He was a square-faced man of nearly fifty, with iron-gray hair a mobile, cleanshaven mouth and rather protuberant black eyes that now scrutinized Ann Veronica. Wood, who had been absent on business during the greater part of the day, returned (perhaps not altogether undesignedly) at an earlier hour than was expected, to his dwelling in Wych Street, Drury Lane; and was about to enter his workshop, when, not hearing any sound of labour issue from within, he began to suspect that an apprentice, of whose habits of industry he entertained some doubt, was neglecting his employment. "I'll be very glad to take that kind of a job, if you can find it. “I’m sorry Mister McCloskey! I was out seeing my boyfriend!” He stared at her concernedly. Shortly to be executed. You had better let me go again. But in his presence a wall of diffidence and timidity encompassed her.
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