‘Only me name,’ Kimble said apologetically. Her face reminded him of a delicate unglazed porcelain cup, filled with blond wine. Immediately beneath her lay Willesden,—the most charming and secluded village in the neighbourhood of the metropolis—with its scattered farm-houses, its noble granges, and its old grey church-tower just peeping above a grove of rook-haunted trees. Doubts began to rise up all about her, plucking at her confidence. Accordingly, having armed himself with various weapons, including a stout oaken staff then ordinarily borne by the watch, and put a coil of rope and a gag in his pocket, to be ready in case of need, he set out, about ten o'clock, on the expedition. To be complete, my vengeance must be tardy.
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