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Chapter LXV
It was well for the small servant that she was of a sharp, quick nature,
or the consequence of sending her out alone, from the very
neighbourhood in which it was most dangerous for her to appear,
would probably have been the restoration of Miss Sally Brass to the
supreme authority over her person. Not unmindful of the risk she ran,
however, the Marchioness no sooner left the house than she dived into
the first dark by-way that presented itself, and, without any present
reference to the point to which her journey tended, made it her first
business to put two good miles of brick and mortar between herself
and Bevis Marks.
When she had accomplished this object, she began to shape her
course for the notary's office, to which - shrewdly inquiring of apple-
women and oyster-sellers at street-corners, rather than in lighted
shops or of well-dressed people, at the hazard of attracting notice -
she easily procured a direction. As carrier- pigeons, on being first let
loose in a strange place, beat the air at random for a short time before
darting off towards the spot for which they are designed, so did the
Marchioness flutter round and round until she believed herself in
safety, and then bear swiftly down upon the port for which she was
bound.
She had no bonnet - nothing on her head but a great cap which, in
some old time, had been worn by Sally Brass, whose taste in head-
dresses was, as we have seen, peculiar - and her speed was rather
retarded than assisted by her shoes, which, being extremely large and
slipshod, flew off every now and then, and were difficult to find again,
among the crowd of passengers. Indeed, the poor little creature
experienced so much trouble and delay from having to grope for these
articles of dress in mud and kennel, and suffered in these researches
so much jostling, pushing, squeezing and bandying from hand to
hand, that by the time she reached the street in which the notary
lived, she was fairly worn out and exhausted, and could not refrain
from tears.
But to have got there at last was a great comfort, especially as there
were lights still burning in the office window, and therefore some hope
that she was not too late. So the Marchioness dried her eyes with the
backs of her hands, and, stealing softly up the steps, peeped in
through the glass door.
Mr Chuckster was standing behind the lid of his desk, making such
preparations towards finishing off for the night, as pulling down his
wristbands and pulling up his shirt-collar, settling his neck more
gracefully in his stock, and secretly arranging his whiskers by the aid
of a little triangular bit of looking glass. Before the ashes of the fire
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