E. Saint Giles's Round-house. This "fatal retreat for the unfortunate brave" was marked by a low wooden railing, within which stood the triple tree. She had never even brought a friend home in her time at the Becks, let alone been asked on dates. She was posing before the mirror, critically, miserably, defensively, and perhaps bewilderedly. She had grabbed! She became less and less attentive to his meditative, self-complacent fragments of talk as she told herself this. The figure of the girl upon it in plain black dress, standing with her hands behind her, was an undeniable and astonishing likeness of herself. The floor was strewn with screws, nails, fragments of wood and stone, and across the passage lay the heavy iron fillet.
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