‘Is he meeting you here then, my dear?’ ‘He had better,’ said Lucilla. She was a large, resilient girl, with a foolish smile, a still more foolish expression of earnestness, and a throaty contralto voice. It was still so dark, that nothing could be distinguished except the heavy masses of timber by which the premises were surrounded; but as they advanced, lights were visible in some of the windows. They stank, and she hated how they blocked the sunlight. “But your sister,” he said. She could hear their footsteps upon the pavement. It is better to face the truth.
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