Here, where every element of her surroundings was tawdry and commonplace, and before this young man of vulgar origin and appearance, it was striking. Cars rushed by on the street, swerving into the middle of the two lane road to avoid the knee-deep puddles forming around sewer grates. He was in misery; he was paying for last night's debauch. Three times he uttered a phrase: "A djinn in a blue-serge coat!" And each time he would follow it with a chuckle—the chuckle of a soul in damnation. Through all this flutter of novelty there came and went a solicitous, preoccupied, almost depressed figure. The winter of 1348 seemed to last an eternity, but the Pestilence struck in one day. She had become unashamed of her nudity, altogether unfocused on her appearance. Here was a little corner of the past—a tragic corner. "If Jack would come to my house, I'd contrive to hide him," remarked a buxom dame. Though Gerald must suppose it was inevitable she should eventually come here. A murmur ran through the assemblage, by several of whom Jack was recognised. " "Many kinds; a thorough outlaw.
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