The houses were older, the shops gloomier, and the thoroughfare narrower, it is true; but the bustle, the crowd, the street-like air was the same. ‘Well, what was I to think, miss? Martha never wrote nothing about you, and I did ask. His eyes were bright, and his voice had in it an unaccustomed timbre. Once a thriving town before the Pestilence, most of the buildings and the piers had been destroyed or burned. She alone of them all knew that he was on the first leg of the terrible journey to the beach. She pulled her veil down, and he knew that silence was best. This was followed by heavy footsteps, and in another moment the dining-room door was flung open. You skulk in shadows, following an émigré.
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