An ugly flush stained his cheeks. " "Who told you this is his portrait?" demanded Trenchard. ” “Uh. Ousted from his old retreat, the Cross Shovels, Baptist Kettleby opened another tavern, conducted upon the same plan as the former, which he denominated the Seven Cities of Refuge. ‘Why do you think I told you about the portrait? I’d not seen it, of course, but I’d seen Miss Mary just before she got married, which is when it was painted. Fly! they shall knock me on the head—curse 'em!—before they shall touch you. A tarnish of constraint that had recently spread over her intercourse with Capes vanished again. ’ All at once Mrs Sindlesham looked across at him, a sharp question in her eyes.
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