Sheppard's habitation terminated a row of old ruinous buildings, called Wheeler's Rents; a dirty thoroughfare, part street, and part lane, running from Mint Street, through a variety of turnings, and along the brink of a deep kennel, skirted by a number of petty and neglected gardens in the direction of Saint George's Fields. You tried bravely enough to hide your preference, to look at us all with the same eyes, to speak to us in the same tone. He left that arid rule clear of the least mist of refinement or delicacy. That—that isn’t living! You are beside yourself. The well of tears in her eyes was dry.
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