She followed Oxford Street into Holborn, and then she inquired for Chancery Lane. “Much as I hate rows, I’ve either got to make a stand or give in altogether. His shirt was unfastened, his vest unbuttoned, his hose ungartered; his feet were stuck into a pair of pantoufles, his arms into a greasy flannel dressing-gown, his head into a thrum-cap, the cap into a tie-periwig, and the wig into a gold-edged hat. Ruth was something to study for future copy; she was almost unbelievable. Sheppard superior to her station. He could see lust virtually dripping from the dark-haired boy’s maw as she teased every last note from her shuddering violin, the devil in a black skirt.
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