‘Do you know, Mademoiselle Charvill, you are a thought too clever for your own good. Ramage’s bitterness passed as abruptly as his aggression. The next door neighbor's dog, chained outside, let out a single bark, but was silent as soon as she turned in that direction, instinctively afraid. It’s not you—not a bit. In consequence of the encouragement thus offered to dishonesty, and the security afforded to crime, this quarter of the Borough of Southwark was accounted (at the period of our narrative) the grand receptacle of the superfluous villainy of the metropolis. ‘Jacques, you have been very much my friend. That is an evil place!” She cried. "My horses, Charcam," he said, as a servant appeared.
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