‘But do you think I can blame you for this, Marthe?’ ‘I blame myself. ‘What do you mean?’ ‘You have papers of identity, for the Mother Abbess told me so. The Wastrel, his eyes full of humorous evil, stood inside the room. ’ The girl held out her hands. Sheppard looked round, and exchanged kindly glances with several of those who addressed him. . When he comes he will do that raid of the pantechnicons the justice it deserves; he will picture the orderly evening scene about the Imperial Legislature in convincing detail, the coming and going of cabs and motor-cabs and broughams through the chill, damp evening into New Palace Yard, the reinforced but untroubled and unsuspecting police about the entries of those great buildings whose square and panelled Victorian Gothic streams up from the glare of the lamps into the murkiness of the night; Big Ben shining overhead, an unassailable beacon, and the incidental traffic of Westminster, cabs, carts, and glowing omnibuses going to and from the bridge.
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