This is simply a chapter of coincidences. " The woollen-draper's application to the bell was answered by a very pretty young woman, with dark Jewish features, roguish black eyes, sleek glossy hair, a trim waist, and a remarkably neat figure: the very model, in short, of a bachelor's housekeeper. My house is the next door to the Cooper's Arms, in the Old Bailey, opposite Newgate. There was, in fact, only one clear thought in his fevered brain: he had reached the hotel without falling down. Fascination. You did not complain then that I personated you—no, nor when Sir John came to me in Paris, and for your sake I lied. It had her raven locks, her pouting lips. The young man desperately ill and the girl taking care of him! Of course, there could be only one ending to such a bout with liquor, and that ending had come perhaps suddenly but not surprisingly. ‘Go on up to the boy, my dear. ‘And so?’ she asked. One morning he caught her hand suddenly and kissed it. The other was to go into business—into a photographer’s reception-room, for example, or a costumer’s or hat-shop.
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