" "Wood!" exclaimed Trenchard,—"of Wych Street?" "The same. Water poured into her eyes, nose, and mouth in a torrent from which she had to turn and wheeze. Of you, I mean. " "What's that?" asked Wood with some curiosity. “In a sense—yes. It comforts him when he is most forlorn. She did not know Mr. His letter of credit; probably that was it; and, observing the strangeness of the room he was in, his first concern on returning to consciousness would naturally relate to his letter of credit. ‘Yes, th-there it is,’ she uttered, stumbling a little over the words. She did not resist him, she could not.
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