"I do," replied Thames, in the same tone; "we haven't a moment to lose. A common rage flushed their faces. Horrible memories of things seen beneath the microscope of the baser forms of life crawled across her mind and set her shuddering with imagined irritations. Turning off again on the left, down Seacoal Lane, they arrived at the mouth of a dark, narrow alley, into which they plunged; and, at the farther extremity found a small yard, overlooked by the blank walls of a large gloomy habitation. Moving back to the corner again, she ran a hand back over the leather-bound books—which, she realised, were not books at all. . ‘That’s my pet name. “It’s okay, Michelle.
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