" "You…. The Closing Scene. Until the last few months. What’s that?” They both stood listening. “What is a ballot-box like, exactly?” she asked, as though it was very important to her. He jumped back, wrenching the sword away. Her figure, though slight, had all the fulness of health; and her complexion—still pale, but without its former sickly cast,—contrasted agreeably, by its extreme fairness, with the dark brows and darker lashes that shaded eyes which, if they had lost some of their original brilliancy, had gained infinitely more in the soft and chastened lustre that replaced it. Then to Martin's brandy-shop, in Fleet Street. He could not doubt it.
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