“What have you done to yourself?” he muttered. . He opened the drawer of the writing table. . Funk! I’ll see it out. If only there had not been this single torturing thought—a mere pin-prick, but still curiously persistent. The sky was cloudless, effulgent blue. She had made her way since then a little further into the heart of life. She had no place she loved. 14, Dexter Street, Westminster, she found was not a house but a yard in an obscure street, with big gates and the name of Podgers & Carlo, Carriers and Furniture Removers, thereon. I know well that you are making a game with me. “I have waited for this,” he said, and stood quite still, looking at her until the silence became oppressive. Even now she was dazed.
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