“That,” he said, grimly, with his hand on the doorhandle, “must be your own affair, unless you choose to live at Morningside Park. She thought of an old abandoned barn that she could inhabit further downriver, but shrugged off the idea in disdain. She got up, drew up her blind, and stared out of window at a dawn-cold vision of chimneys for a time, and then went and sat on the edge of her bed. He shall expiate his offences on the gibbet. She could visualize the picture she had presented, particularly the battered papier-mâché kitbag at her feet.
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