After passing Tottenham Court Road, very few houses were to be seen on the right hand, opposite Wardour Street it was open country. A wave of pity went over him—pity for the patient, the girl, and his friend. The floor was thickly strewn with sawdust and shavings; and across the room ran a long and wide bench, furnished at one end with a powerful vice; next to which three nails driven into the boards served, it would appear from the lump of unconsumed tallow left in their custody, as a substitute for a candlestick. “Your name and address in his pocket was no delusion,” he said sharply.
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