Her white shirt was mired with a central bloodstain, his pants caked with mud. Lassitude?” “I suppose so. That did not sound like the name the young man had offered in the tower of the water-clock. ’ And with that he went off to the City, stern and silent, leaving his bacon on his plate—a great slice of bacon hardly touched. I’ve told them all that was necessary, but I— wanted to ask your pardon—for having made myself a nuisance to you, and for breaking into your rooms—and to thank you—the doctor says you bound up my wound—or I should have bled to death.
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