Turning off again on the left, down Seacoal Lane, they arrived at the mouth of a dark, narrow alley, into which they plunged; and, at the farther extremity found a small yard, overlooked by the blank walls of a large gloomy habitation. “For luck. “The Vote is the symbol of everything,” said Miss Brett. And then she came out into the street, sure only of one thing—that she could not return directly to her lodgings. Not that he deliberately courted danger; it was rather the searcher, seeking analysis, the why and wherefore of this or that invading emotion. “Now I suppose Brendon understands exactly what you mean,” he remarked. He would provide the necessities of life and protect her.
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