She walked down the station approach, past the neat, obtrusive offices of the coal merchant and the house agent, and so to the wicket-gate by the butcher’s shop that led to the field path to her home. "Jack!" exclaimed Thames. “Lucy, do you forgive me?” She looked at him in earnest. He used to call it his fire-escape—ha! ha! I've often used the ladder for my own convenience, but I never expected to turn it to such good account. Do have some tea, won’t you? If you must, go then. The concourse extended along Giltspur Street as far as Smithfield.
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