But he dismissed that because then she would ask her lover and not him all these things. The spy—if there was one hiding out in the late Jarvis Remenham’s empty house—would be taken unawares. The old woman told him she had no such article to dispose of, but recommended him to a neighbouring blacksmith. He was a manly man, free from any strong maternal strain, and he had loved his dark-eyed, dainty bright-colored, and active little wife with a real vein of passion in his sentiment. Gosse had moved forward, his pistol arm out straight, his aim true, the gun cocked. Fetter Lane, on the left, Gray's Inn, on the right, added their supplies.
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