I'm thinking that the Wastrel was one day a celebrated professional; and the women were partly the cause of his fall. He was placed in a coach, handcuffed, and heavily fettered, and guarded by a vast posse of officers to Temple Bar, where a fresh relay of constables escorted him to Westminster. Then light footsteps became audible, descending the staircase with a certain deliberation and a faint rustle of skirts. “You think that this is all. The windows were grated, the doors barred; each room had the name as well as the appearance of a cell; and the very porter who stood at the gate, habited like a jailer, with his huge bunch of keys at his girdle, his forbidding countenance and surly demeanour seemed to be borrowed from Newgate. “Cheveney!” she repeated. But I've stacks of books and a grand piano-player.
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