“How dared you do yourself this injustice?” “I did it for her sake,” she answered. ‘Mad as hatters!’ ‘It is you who is mad,’ mademoiselle told him crossly. “It’s nothing to what I WILL do. She could not look at him through an interval that seemed to her a vast gulf of time. In consequence of the encouragement thus offered to dishonesty, and the security afforded to crime, this quarter of the Borough of Southwark was accounted (at the period of our narrative) the grand receptacle of the superfluous villainy of the metropolis. He was there concealed, waiting her return. She could not judge its direction, and began to move swiftly along the bookshelves, her hand running behind her across the spines of the calfbound volumes. Nor was this impression removed as he stole a glance at Mrs. You have said a thousand times that there was no shame in you.
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