It was his redemption, his ticket out of hell—that blue-serge coat. She followed him about persistently, and succeeded, after a brisk, unchivalrous struggle (in which he pinched and asked her to “cheese it”), in kissing him among the raspberries behind the greenhouse. I'm trying to make you see the worldly point of view, which always inclines toward the evil side of things. At the corner of Liquorpond Street stood the old Hampstead coach-office; and, on the night in question, a knot of hostlers, waggoners, drivers, and stable-boys was collected in the yard. I’m a hard young woman. You’re mine.
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