“I might return the compliment, Courtlaw,” he answered, “by asking why the devil you come lurching on to the pavement like a drunken man. The room was worse than pokey, it was shabby; and the view from the window, of chimney pots and slate roofs, wholly uninspiring. With a curt command to her cavalier to get up on the box and give the direction to the interested coachman, he jumped in beside the girl and shut them both into privacy. Or had she, like himself, been held up until the fellow returned to town? He waited, his ready humour anticipating her likely reaction. “She’s sensitive soul, far too sensitive to be married to an ass like Gianfrancesco. She passed him silently as she dropped Michelle’s dried corpse into the open clay pit awkwardly, like a discarded doll.
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