Then Dorrimore's arm stole round her waist. Well, this was not
unnatural. Would they not be soon man and wife? The puzzle was that she
had no feeling of response. She would rather that he did not embrace
her. She did not want to be noticed. Yet she could not find it in her
heart to be unkind, so she allowed him to draw her nearer, to let her
head droop on his shoulder. She tried to think it was pleasant to be so
loved and she lowered her eyelashes when he kissed her again and again.
Two or three minutes of oblivion. The coach had raced down Red Lion
Street. It was in Holborn going eastwards and here the din and clatter
were heightened by the shouts of drunken roisterers. The overhanging
houses cast deep shadows and the coach was travelling in the gloom. It
was past midnight and the lamps hung at every tenth house were
extinguished. This was the rule.
Then Lavinia became conscious that the carriage was going down hill. It
had passed Fetter Lane into which it should have turned and was
proceeding towards Holborn Bridge. Why was this? Fetter Lane led into
Fleet Street and so to the Fleet. Had the coachman misunderstood his
instructions? She wrenched herself free and looked out of the window.
She recognised St. Andrew's Church in Holborn Valley. She turned
swiftly and faced Dorrimore. The coach had crossed the bridge and had
commenced the steep ascent of Holborn Hill on the other side.
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