It was approached from the street by a flight of broad stone steps, leading to a ponderous door, plated with iron, and secured on the inner side by huge bolts, and a lock, with wards of a prodigious size. Eyebrows knitting, she looked towards the ground a few feet away from him, guiltily. He beheld the grey tower of Willesden Church, embosomed in its grove of trees, now clothed, in all the glowing livery of autumn. In the pause a door could be heard opening and closing on the landing up-stairs. “You’re. "Let me see him. " The tone was neutral. I told her it was the end. \"How's it going, Lucy?\" She turned. "I am not, by Heaven!" replied Sheppard, firmly.
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