Wood heard the cry. I cannot let you go. Ennison slightly——” There was a dead silence in the little room. It became a sort of duel at last between them, and all the others sat and listened—every one, that is, except the Alderman, who had got the blond young man into a corner by the green-stained dresser with the aluminum things, and was sitting with his back to every one else, holding one hand over his mouth for greater privacy, and telling him, with an accent of confidential admission, in whispers of the chronic struggle between the natural modesty and general inoffensiveness of the Borough Council and the social evil in Marylebone. “Who’ll mind the baby nar?” was one of the night’s inspirations, and very frequent. On the way he confessed. At the end of two long lines of foot-guards stood the cart with a powerful black horse harnessed to it.
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