To her great surprise and mortification he was not alone; but brought with him a couple of friends, whom he begged to introduce as Mr. You know what's what. There was something about their greeting and the tone of Annabel’s exclamation which puzzled her. The steps, even the pavements, were invaded by little knots of loungers driven outside by the unusual heat of the evening, most of them in evening dress, or what passed for evening dress in Montague Street. Her target was a fifty-four year old man who lived with his mother, an obese neighborhood woman, a widow named Dawn Plote. On coming to himself, he found he had been wrapped in a blanket and put to bed with a couple of hot bricks to his feet. He was angry.
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