She sidled nearer, her sharp eyes
on his face.
"I bin watchin' yer," she said.
"I sat down and pulled the sack
over me 'ead to breathe inside it an'
get a bit warm. An' I see yer come.
I knowed wot yer was after, I did.
I watched yer through a 'ole in me
sack. I wasn't goin' to call a copper.
I shouldn't want ter be stopped
meself if I made up me mind. I
seed a gal dragged out las' week an'
it'd a broke yer 'art to see 'er tear 'er
clothes an' scream. Wot business
'ad they preventin' 'er goin' off
quiet? I wouldn't 'a' stopped yer
--but w'en the quid fell, that made
it different."
"I--" he said, feeling the foolishness
of the statement, but making
it, nevertheless, "I am ill."
"Course yer ill. It's yer 'ead.
Come along er me an' get a cup er
cawfee at a stand, an' buck up. If
yer've give me that quid straight--
wish-yer-may-die--I'll go with yer
an' get a cup myself. I ain't 'ad a bite
since yesterday--an' 't wa'n't nothin'
but a slice o' polony sossidge I found
on a dust-'eap. Come on, mister."
She pulled his coat with her
cracked hand. He glanced down at
it mechanically, and saw that some
of the fissures had bled and the
roughened surface was smeared with
the blood. They stood together in
the small space in which the fog
enclosed them--he and she--the
man with no To-morrow and the
girl thing who seemed as old as
himself, with her sharp, small nose
and chin, her sharp eyes and voice
--and yet--perhaps the fogs
enclosing did it--something drew
them together in an uncanny way.
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