When we had slid down the steep incline and got free of the precincts of that hateful station, I breathed more freely and collected my wits.

Carlotta sucked her sticky thumbs and wiped them on her dress.
"Where are we going ?" she asked.
"Across Waterloo Bridge," said I.
"What to do ?" "To dispose of you somehow," I replied, grimly.

"But how, I haven't a notion.

There's a Home for Lost Dogs and a Home for Stray Cats, and a Lost Property Office at Scotland Yard, but as you are neither a dog nor a cat nor an umbrella, these refuges are unavailable." The cab reached the Strand.
"East or west, sir ?" inquired the driver.
"West," said I, at random.
We drove down the Strand at a leisurely pace.

I passed through a phase of agonised thought.