Unceasing, soaking
rain was falling; the very lamps seemed obscured by the damp upon
the glass, and their light reached but to a little distance from the
posts. The streets were cleared of passers-by; not a creature
seemed stirring, except here and there a drenched policeman in his
oilskin cape. Barton wished the others good-night, and set off
home. He had gone through a street or two, when he heard a step
behind him; but he did not care to stop and see who it was. A
little further, and the person quickened step, and touched his arm
very lightly. He turned, and saw, even by the darkness visible of
that badly-lighted street, that the woman who stood by him was of no
doubtful profession. It was told by her faded finery, all unfit to
meet the pelting of that pitiless storm; the gauze bonnet, once
pink, now dirty white; the muslin gown, all draggled, and soaking
wet up to the very knees; the gay-coloured barege shawl, closely
wrapped round the form, which yet shivered and shook, as the woman
whispered, "I want to speak to you."
He swore an oath, and bade her begone.
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