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The young man entered into a lively little war of words with a yellow-haired young person near the door. ’ Dieu du ciel, but she was a fool. And experience was slow in coming. “Can you not understand? It is of no use your taking my identity and all the burden of my iniquities upon your dear shoulders if I am to be recognized the moment I show my face in London. The prospect of the gallows would never deter me from taking to the road, if I were so inclined. She confronted him with his own double-standard. ” “It is Number 8, Cavendish Square,” she answered simply.
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