He hung over her—he and his loan to her and his connection with her and that terrible evening—a vague, disconcerting possibility of annoyance and exposure. She lunged without warning again, and Gosse, just catching her blade on his own, was obliged to retreat backwards up the little stair. At this time of universal havoc and despair,—when all London quaked at the voice of the storm,—the carpenter, who was exposed to its utmost fury, fared better than might have been anticipated. The few pence left in her purse would only provide a very scanty lunch. After you went he got up and took refuge in the preparation-room.
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