“I will believe you. "Zounds! what's that!" he cried, as the noise of a scuffle was heard behind them. Jack may be capable of much that is wicked, but he would never lift his hand against his friend,—of that I am assured. I don’t see how they can be. You saw him? You have been to Remenham House?’ ‘Remenham House? I wish I’d been only to Remenham House. . Wood then took to his heels, and never once looked behind him till he reached his own dwelling in Wych Street. The door into the passage offered itself with an irresistible invitation—the one alternative to a public, inexplicable passion of weeping. A shudder rippled across his shoulders. “Perhaps,” she said, “it is the London climate.
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