176 “No, it’s very good. The houses on Snow Hill were thronged, like those in Old Bailey. But though he made Blueskin and Kettleby his chief marks, he missed both. He did not like it, he said, with a significant look, to be reminded of either his books or his dinners after he had done with them. There was a lapse of time, an interval of blackness; then he found his hand in hers and she was leading him at a run up the side of the mountain. Endless complications ensue when both sisters return to London. It was astonishing how often this picture returned: cold rosy apples and flurries of snow. That was what she was trying to make him understand.
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