She pointed suddenly at the portrait. \"Shouldn't you be in bed? You go into work at 5:30, I thought. McClintock, striking a match to relight his cigar, broke the spell. Darting to a window looking in that direction, Thames threw it up, and discharged both his pistols, but without effect. She knew that the stairs they had to negotiate to the vestry were extremely narrow, and she had made her plans. That was what she was trying to make him understand. She would come back and write letters, carefully planned and written letters, or read some book she had fetched from Mudie’s—she had invested a half-guinea with Mudie’s—or sit over her fire and think. These were so outside her experience that she found it possible to thrust them almost out of sight by saying they would be “all right” in confident tones to herself. ToC Thames Darrell's fears were not, however, groundless.
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