Besides, rarely at any hour even at night was the Old Bailey free from traffic.

She would have to think of some other way.
She crept along the gutter in front of the next house.

Dirty curtains hung at windows.

There was no danger of her being seen even if the room had any occupants.

She crawled onward, feeling she was a sort of Jack Sheppard whose daring escapes were still being talked about.
At the next window Lavinia hesitated and stopped.