The metrical irregularity is intentional, because I want, as it were, to put you apart: to change the lilt and the mood altogether when I speak of you. “You cannot! Oh, you cannot. Daughters were in the air that day. There's a hundred pounds too much. She had imagined that prisons were white-tiled places, reeking of lime-wash and immaculately sanitary. It heralded you, promised you. Wood then took to his heels, and never once looked behind him till he reached his own dwelling in Wych Street. In the mean time, let me advise you as a friend not to irritate him by a refusal, which would be as useless as vexatious. Promise me that you’ll contact the police if she ever calls you on the phone, or worse, shows up at your school.
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