Perhaps," she added, in a whisper, as she appropriated the beforenamed article, "he has a pocket-book. ‘You’re only making things worse, you little idiot. "I guessed as much. ‘Why, what have I said?’ ‘You said to me my name. She hid behind a mirage of piety, just as I do. . I’ve never had a homemade Thanksgiving meal like that. She could smell his cologne underneath his collar, or perhaps his aftershave. In consequence of the encouragement thus offered to dishonesty, and the security afforded to crime, this quarter of the Borough of Southwark was accounted (at the period of our narrative) the grand receptacle of the superfluous villainy of the metropolis.
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