Annabel entered. She went about in a negligent November London that had become very dark and foggy and greasy and forbidding indeed, and tried to find that modest but independent employment she had so rashly assumed. When Claude Du Val was in Newgate thrown, He carved his name on the dungeon stone; Quoth a dubsman, who gazed on the shattered wall, "You have carved your epitaph, Claude Du Val, With your chisel so fine, tra la!" "This S wants a little deepening," mused the apprentice, retouching the letter in question; "ay, that's better. ‘And I’d like to know what the devil—’ ‘Out of town?’ repeated Melusine, stupefied.
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