This was number 13, Montague Street, familiarly spoken of in the neighbourhood as “White’s. “Does he ever ask about me?” She asked, feeling like a cuckolded old maid. Saws, hammers, planes, axes, augers, adzes, chisels, gimblets, and an endless variety of tools were ranged, like a stand of martial weapons at an armoury, in racks against the walls. “You see,” he said, “you are like an inaccessible gold-mine in all this sort of matter. The sunshine broke across each shoulder, one lance striking the yellow face of a Chinaman, queueless and dressed in European clothes, the other lance falling squarely upon the face of the man he had journeyed thirteen thousand miles to find. But they were too late. Balanced on his nose were enormous tortoise-shell spectacles. We were hunting and were separated from the rest of the hunters, so I said, ‘There are ways for a man to escape his wife where no one is harmed. He paid the cab, and turned to follow her.
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