Her head ached with a hollow pain. He beheld the grey tower of Willesden Church, embosomed in its grove of trees, now clothed, in all the glowing livery of autumn. And now the fiend Gosse had taken even that away from her. He looked exactly as she had dreamed him, handsome, rigidly dressed in a black suit, his hair still half gray, his eyes green and flashing like a cat’s. He was a London man of business, spending a small legacy in Paris. ‘What are you, a nincompoop? She was Nicholas’s wife, of course. Arrived within a short distance of his destination, he came to a halt, and pointing out a dark court nearly opposite the woollen-draper's abode, told the chairmen to wait there till they were summoned.
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