These were less like streets than labyrinths, hewn through an eternal twilight. Anna, quitting her chair, dropped on her knees by her sister’s side and took her hand. Unlocking several doors, he came to a dark vault, that would have rivalled the gloomiest cell in Newgate, into which he thrust Thames, and fastened the door. She advanced, stabbing at him. “You remember the man in Paris who used to follow me about—Meysey Hill they called him?” He nodded. ’ He bowed. Wild's figure. She stopped abruptly at the sound of his voice, and lost the thread of what she was saying.
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