Richard pays the man, then returns for our bags. ''From here we must walk,'' he says. I climb out, unassisted, and blink at the light— though the light here is dim enough: we have lost the sun, and the sky is anyway thick with cloud—brown cloud, like the dirty fleece of a sheep. I have expected to find myself at the door to his house, but there are no houses here: we have entered streets that appear to me unspeakably shabby and mean—are hedged on one side by a great, dead wall, on the other by the lime-stained arches of a bridge. Richard moves off. I catch at his arm.
''Is this right?'' I say.
''Quite right,'' he answers. ''Come, don''t be alarmed. We cannot live grandly, yet. And we must make our entrance the quiet way, that''s all.''@本@作@品@由@思@兔@網@提@供@線@上@閱@讀@
''You are still afraid that my uncle may have sent men, to watch
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He again moves off. ''Come. We can talk soon, indoors. Not here. Come on, this way. Pick up your skirts.''
He walks quicker than ever now, and I am slow to follow. When he sees me hanging back he holds our bags in one hand and, with the other,