He disappeared into its thick doors like a magician’s rabbit. You got my note?” “I certainly received a note,” Anna admitted. The thought of Capes flooded her being like long-veiled sunlight breaking again through clouds. Sheppard's habitation terminated a row of old ruinous buildings, called Wheeler's Rents; a dirty thoroughfare, part street, and part lane, running from Mint Street, through a variety of turnings, and along the brink of a deep kennel, skirted by a number of petty and neglected gardens in the direction of Saint George's Fields. “Then I will do what I can,” Anna promised.
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