The sing-song girl rose and meekly pattered out of the office into the night. She was conscious of a ceaseless undercurrent of sound—the guttural Chinese tongue. ‘Well, water under the bridge is that, miss. ” He never helped her by a sound. Read that letter, Thames—my lord marquis, I mean. . . ” Anna hesitated no longer. The guests congregated within the night-cellar were, in fact, little better than thieves; but thieves who confined their depredations almost exclusively to the vessels lying in the pool and docks of the river. He had done it. ’ Chapter Nine As she devoured the simple meal of bread and cheese, and several slices of cold roast beef, the whole washed down with a poor sort of coffee, Melusine listened with avid interest to the details of her mother’s life as revealed by the exclamatory conversation of Joan Ibstock.
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