ToC That night Jack walked to Paddington, and took up his quarters at a small tavern, called the Wheat-sheaf, near the green. There were words, then, that ran on indefinitely, with reversals? Here they meant one thing; there, the exact opposite. He laid down the knife, and fixed a searching and distrustful gaze upon the writer, who continued his task, unconscious of anything having happened. After occupying himself thus for the best part of an hour, he thought Jack must have given him the slip. She had expected a love story; and love was totally absent. Dare you?” “Do you mean NOW?” “At the end of the session. He seemed too noisy. ” So they talked on whilst supper was served, falling easily into the spirit of the place, and yet both of them conscious of some new thing underlying the gaiety of their tongues and manner.
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