She realized dimly that there was no personal thing behind his cry, that countless myriads of Mannings had “My God!”-ed with an equal gusto at situations as flatly apprehended. To be near someone, even someone who made a pretense of friendliness, to hear voices, her own intermingling, would serve as a rehabilitating tonic. Its importance had vanished with her abandonment of compromise. A jar of pink roses upon a tiny table seemed to gain an extra delicacy of colour from the sombre curtains behind. Sheppard's habitation terminated a row of old ruinous buildings, called Wheeler's Rents; a dirty thoroughfare, part street, and part lane, running from Mint Street, through a variety of turnings, and along the brink of a deep kennel, skirted by a number of petty and neglected gardens in the direction of Saint George's Fields. She spent the morning up to ten in writing a series of unsuccessful letters to Ramage, which she tore up unfinished; and finally she desisted and put on her jacket and went out into the lamp-lit obscurity and slimy streets. " "Man, in God's name, come with me and tell her this!" urged Spurlock. E. With her foodle doo! "I've a toast to propose," cried Sheppard, filling a bumper. “It isn’t objections exactly.
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