Henceforth Ruth would closely observe her fellow women and note the hang of their skirts. A tourist caravan of four pole-chairs jogged along a narrow street. "You are all right?"—anxiously. "No bones broken, I hope," said Thames, laughing at Jack, who limped towards the bench, rubbing his shins as he went. On regaining his breath, he began to consider whither chance had led him; and, rubbing his eyes to clear his sight, he perceived a sombre pile, with a lofty tower and broad roof, immediately in front of him. The pole-chair caravan resumed its journey. His sword-arm fell useless at his side and she knew herself safe. And there's your liver. It was fastened inside. In other respects, they were equally indecorous and offensive. But you! Why the devil did you marry her? That's the thing that confounds me.
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