207 She romanced a dark-haired farmer a few times, having long since forgotten his name. “Oh, dammit!” he remarked, “dammit!” with great bitterness as he faced it. At this juncture, Sir Cecil and his followers appeared at the threshold. But she had loved the man. It was you, of course, whom he wanted. A mutual recognition took place at the same instant between the stranger and this individual. There was no such a thing as perfection in a mixed world. The walls were bare, and painted in stone-colour; the floors, devoid of carpet; the beds, of hangings; the windows, of blinds; and, excepting in the thief-taker's own audience-chamber, there was not a chair or a table about the premises; the place of these conveniences being elsewhere supplied by benches, and deal-boards laid across joint-stools. ” She paused for a moment.
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