Here, on the quiet pavement shadowed by the College of Surgeons, she lingered in expectancy. Ten was striking, but she looked in vain for the figure she would recognize -- that of a well-dressed, middle-aged man, with a white silk comforter about his neck, and drawn up so as to hide his mouth. Twice she had met him here, and on each occasion he was waiting for her when she arrived. Five minutes passed -- ten minutes. She grew very impatient and, as a necessary consequence, very angry. Воспроизведено в оригинальной авторской орфографии издания 1898 года (издательство "New York, Frederick [A.] Stokes company").

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