CLARA AND JANE Rain no longer fell, but the gusty and bitter wind still swept about the black streets.

Walking side by side without speech, Clara and her companion left the neighbourhood of the prison, and kept a northward direction till they reached the junction of highways where stands the 'Angel.' Here was the wonted crowd of loiterers and the press of people waiting for tramcar or omnibus--east, west, south, or north; newsboys, eager to get rid of their last batch, were crying as usual, 'Ech-ow! Exteree speciul! Ech-ow! Steendard!' and a brass band was blaring out its saddest strain of merry dance-music.

The lights gleamed dismally in rain-puddles and on the wet pavement.

With the wind came whiffs of tobacco and odours of the drinking-bar.
They crossed, and walked the length of Islington High Street, then a short way along its continuation, Upper Street.

Once or twice Clara had barely glanced at Kirkwood, but his eyes made no reply, and his lips were resolutely closed.