“You belong to me,” he said fiercely; “the marriage certificate is in my pocket. But there was a face pressed to the glass. Yes, of course. She kept her eyes closed. She went past three keenly observant and ostentatiously preoccupied waiters down the thickcarpeted staircase and out of the Hotel Rococo, that remarkable laboratory of relationships, past a tall porter in blue and crimson, into a cool, clear night. Unlocking a cupboard, he then took out some cold meat and other viands, with a flask of wine, and a bottle of brandy, and began to eat and drink voraciously. They crossed the street, and entering the front door passed up the outside stone steps of the flat. In consequence of the encouragement thus offered to dishonesty, and the security afforded to crime, this quarter of the Borough of Southwark was accounted (at the period of our narrative) the grand receptacle of the superfluous villainy of the metropolis. " "And what might that be?" "Will McClintock take us both?" "You took that chance. "That's fine," said O'Higgins.
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