All at once she realised that Kimble had halted, leaning heavily against the wall. She tied the obi clumsily about her waist, then gently laid her hand on the bowed head. If only out of loyalty to co-education one has to do that. The galleries adjoining it were crowded with spectators,—so was the roof of a large tavern, then the only house standing at the end of the Edgeware Road,—so were the trees,—the walls of Hyde Park,—a neighbouring barn, a shed,—in short, every available position. One gets drawn into things. Jack Sheppard is a match for Jonathan Wild, any day. Instead, she laughed, laughed with lips and eyes, laughed till the tears ran down her cheeks.
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