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The drawers at the moment were too busy to attend to her, and she would have seized the opportunity of examining, unperceived, the assemblage within, through a little curtained window that overlooked the adjoining chamber, if an impediment had not existed in the shape of Baptist Kettleby, whose portly person entirely obscured the view. There was only one idea in his head now—to batter and bruise and crush this weakling, then cast him at the feet of his love-lorn wife. “But, forgive me, you are tired. “You might at least,” she murmured, “have invented a more romantic reason. Lucy looked about confusedly. She opened the window, for the night was mild, and sat on the floor with her chin resting upon the window-sill. "I am Owen Wood, at your service. No matter what the fire and force of his passion, it falters eventually, and forever after smoulders or goes out. And I have no more the pistol. If you noticed, our house is fairly close to the road. It remains a bizarre idea to me that Lucy Alberti could ever become so detailed or so real, but I’m certainly glad to have made her acquaintance.
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