There was no sense in creating further difficulties for herself by arguing with the sergeant over her identity. ‘It is you who is the fool,’ she threw at him, whipping round again. “I have made no progress with my work,” she said slowly, “and the money was gone. Ogilvy was full of a client’s trouble in that matter, a grave and even tragic trouble. Life’s hard enough nowadays for an unprotected male. They were all stout ill-favoured men, attired in the regular jail-livery of scratch wig and snuff-coloured suit; and had all a strong family likeness to each other. Oh God! my limbs fail me. The boy she had loved was gone.
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