He wondered if the young fool had any idea of what he had drawn in this tragic lottery called marriage. At this time of day the priest would be at his apartments in Brewer Street, a short walk away from Golden Square which the building overlooked. At the same moment a martial flourish, proceeding from cow's horns, tin canisters filled with stones, bladders and cat-gut, with other sprightly, instruments, was struck up, and, enlivened by this harmonious accompaniment, the troop reached its destination in the best possible spirits for an encounter. Well, it had to happen somewhen. ‘I thought it must be you,’ cried the woman. There’s always friction, conflict, unwilling concessions. Solomon Smith received something very like a rebuff. The thought allured him, and therein lay the danger.
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