Explore "The Beetle" by Richard Marsh on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
It is something of a drive from Waterloo to Limehouse -- it seems longer when all your nerves are tingling with anxiety to reach your journey's end; and the cab I had hit upon proved to be not the fastest I might have chosen. For some time after our start, we were silent. Each was occupied with his own thoughts.
Then Lessingham, who was sitting at my side, said to me,