A bit of audacious speech trembled on my lips, but remained unuttered.

My earlier conception that she was a woman of the street died within me.
There was more than a mere hint of character about that resolute mouth, the white contour of cheek.

She glanced furtively back across her shoulder--evidently the policeman had disappeared, for she released her slight grasp of my arm, although continuing to walk quietly enough by my side, her face partially averted.

The night was deathly still, the sodden walk underfoot scarcely echoing our footfalls, the weird mist closing denser about us, as we advanced.
At the second street intersection she turned east, advancing toward where passing trolley-cars promised some life and activity even at that late hour.

Helpless to do otherwise I moved along with her in the same direction, our grotesque shadows dimly discernible beneath the yellow mist of light.