I'll wait for you down here. She recoiled. “No, you didn’t. Neither you nor your mother shall escape me. The drawers at the moment were too busy to attend to her, and she would have seized the opportunity of examining, unperceived, the assemblage within, through a little curtained window that overlooked the adjoining chamber, if an impediment had not existed in the shape of Baptist Kettleby, whose portly person entirely obscured the view. Conscientious objectors to that process are not permitted, she found, in Canongate. She threw hat and coat on the bed and sat down before the fire.
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