They buried him in Willesden churchyard after the robbery. Standing before a mirror set on a dresser between the windows, two hands frozen in the act of adjusting a wide-brimmed hat on her head, stood a lady in a dark riding habit, her startled features turned towards the door. ‘You ought to be glad someone cares enough about your wretched little neck to try and save it. The dress came to her only too manifestly unwashed from its former wearer; even the under-linen they gave her seemed unclean. “‘Go it, missie,’ they said; “kick aht!’ “I swore at that policeman—and disgusted him. She required no instructions from books; her wit and beauty were her own. ‘Parbleu, do you think he will run away? He has a bullet inside him, and it must be taken out.
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