\" She said, looking beside him at a taller boy who appeared to be bored. The word "criticism" had no concrete meaning to her then; no more than "compromise. The steps, even the pavements, were invaded by little knots of loungers driven outside by the unusual heat of the evening, most of them in evening dress, or what passed for evening dress in Montague Street. That boy was the carpenter's apprentice, Jack Sheppard. Nothing could occupy her attention long today, unless it concerned her situation. "To-morrow night!" said Spurlock, in a wondering whisper. “I am under police surveillance,” she said. Lucy slipped upstairs silently. But it was hopelessly hard to put.
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