" It was curiously like the intermittent murmur of the surf, those weird Sundays, when her father paused for breath to launch additional damnation for those who disobeyed the Word. Infested by every description of vagabond and miscreant, it was, perhaps, a few degrees worse than the rookery near Saint Giles's and the desperate neighbourhood of Saffron Hill in our own time. “I shall send for a policeman,” Anna said, “directly my maid answers the bell— unless you choose to go before. The sing-song girl, seeing Ruth, extended her hands and began to chatter rapidly.
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