‘But this is not to my blame, grandpére. ’ The lady’s face came round, a puzzled frown on her brow. For a while they stood there, silent, motionless, staring at the doorway where still a few strings of the bamboo curtain swayed and twisted, agitated by the Wastrel's passage. As soon, however, as the last solemn rites were over, and the remains of the unfortunate woman committed to their final resting-place in Willesden churchyard, his firmness completely deserted him, and he sank beneath the weight of his affliction. "Your answer, gem'men?" demanded Sharples.
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