‘You escape from your own convent, at great personal danger. “Why did you ever let me love you? Why did you ever let me peep through the gates of Paradise? Oh! my God! I don’t begin to feel and realize this yet. All the rest of his existence was subordinate to this pursuit; he lived for it, worked for it, kept himself in training for it. This was number 13, Montague Street, familiarly spoken of in the neighbourhood as “White’s. Gay, was a stout, good-looking, good-humoured man, about thirty-six, with a dark complexion, an oval face, fine black eyes, full of fire and sensibility, and twinkling with roguish humour—an expression fully borne out by the mouth, which had a very shrewd and sarcastic curl.
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