"I feel like work," he lied. Yet she took with her an uneasy consciousness that in this affair might lie the germs of future trouble. He might miss at this distance. Here was no crooked soul; a little weak perhaps, impulsive beyond common, but fundamentally honest. If only—Anna, tell me,” she broke off suddenly, “how did you get to know Mr. Purney, the present ordinary of Newgate. For a time her efforts to achieve a comprehensive concentration were dispersed by the passage of the village street of Caddington, the passing of a goggled car-load of motorists, and the struggles of a stable lad mounted on one recalcitrant horse and leading another. G. .
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