” A fair-haired young Englishman looked up from the depths of his easy chair. He hung precariously on the ragged edge, but he hung there. But then, because my papa had no money, you understand, he sent me to a convent. Little woman, you have been brave enough before. Sheppard's habitation terminated a row of old ruinous buildings, called Wheeler's Rents; a dirty thoroughfare, part street, and part lane, running from Mint Street, through a variety of turnings, and along the brink of a deep kennel, skirted by a number of petty and neglected gardens in the direction of Saint George's Fields.
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