She resolved to walk across the Park to the Zoological gardens, and so on by way of Primrose Hill to Hampstead Heath. She loved the market, the horses trotting about, the bishops forced to be on the same road with old washer-women, the fools begging for a Florin or a ducat. This was good. His frowning gaze came back to her. Perhaps my wife has already prepared you for what I wish to say. As they approached London Bridge, the thief-taker whispered Van Galgebrok, who acted as steersman, to make for a particular arch—near the Surrey shore. When her shock and the headache subsided, and she remembered that she had been reading the letter when Gosse had accosted her, she looked for it in vain. Why should they be? She and Ramage were friends, very good friends.
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