At this time of universal havoc and despair,—when all London quaked at the voice of the storm,—the carpenter, who was exposed to its utmost fury, fared better than might have been anticipated. I wonder if I should have locked you up if I’d been your father. She had a bittersweet fragrance, like dusty books and honeysuckle. ‘How do you know?’ ‘Exactly,’ pounced Roding bitterly. ‘Now you see why it is I no longer require the proof of which I have spoken. “I suppose you know I like you tremendously?” he pursued.
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