Prudence? Mr Remenham’s sister that was. Poor soul! she nearly died when she heard he had robbed his master; and it might have been well if she had done so, for she never afterwards recovered her reason. In doing so, he had to clamber up the immense heap of bricks and rubbish which now littered the floor, amounting almost to a car-load, and reaching up nearly to the top of the chimney-piece. She also knew that he was the type who would not make a single physical overture until she pushed the correct buttons. She was quite the rage, in a small way, you know. Then he took me out to Monteaux, on a motor. No hair to fall awry, no powder to displace, no ruffles to crush; men are lucky.
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