It was not a long prayer. The steps, even the pavements, were invaded by little knots of loungers driven outside by the unusual heat of the evening, most of them in evening dress, or what passed for evening dress in Montague Street. "Give me your hand, Poll, to help me through," cried Jack, as he accomplished the operation. "But bring your glim this way. Long ago. okay. "You read it, Ruth. Kneebone," she added, with a glance at that gentleman, which was meant to speak daggers, "will do as he pleases. The expression, however, which would chiefly have interested a beholder, was that of settled and profound melancholy.
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