A disagreeable young man, with red hair and a loose mouth, seated at the reporter’s table, was only too manifestly sketching her. “I am. Gay, the poet, who wrote the 'Captives,' which was lately acted at Drury Lane, and was so much admired by the Princess of Wales. She felt very awkward as she stared at 103 the top of his ashen hair. "The other kid's given my partner the slip. “You see, dear, one IS passionately anxious for something—what is it? One wants to be CLEAN. She had never imagined life was half so sinister as it looked to her in the beginning of these investigations.
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