She followed Oxford Street into Holborn, and then she inquired for Chancery Lane. ‘Suppose you don’t know what sort of proof she was after?’ he asked. Too late now. But it was very hard to follow. Had she not seen them go forth with tracts in their pockets and grins in their beards? To set fire to his imagination, to sting his sense of chivalry into being, to awaken his manhood, she must present some irresistible project. ‘Jacques?’ she called out, forgetting the need for silence. " "Mr. A white man, wandering about the streets of Canton at night, was a challenge to such a catastrophe. Wood.
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