He would get her to come to tea with him, usually in a pleasant tea-room over a fruit-shop in Tottenham Court Road, and he would discuss his own point of view and hint at a thousand devotions were she but to command him. He and his friends (he had at least two per class, even in Trigonometry) would make their exits as quickly as possible. Her head swam. “I should imagine,” he said, shaking out a copy of The Times, “that it is your brain which is addled. ” Courtlaw turned abruptly to Brendon. Well, I was all for dragging in Bow Street there and then, and getting the pair of those fraudsters thrown in gaol. His grief was so audible, that it attracted the notice of some of the bystanders, and Thames was obliged to beg him to control it. What was the alternative to going home? No alternative appeared in that darkness. pglaf.
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