Her little bedsitting-room was like a lair, and she went out from it into this vast, dun world, with its smoke-gray houses, its glaring streets of shops, its dark streets of homes, its orange-lit windows, under skies of dull copper or muddy gray or black, much as an animal goes out to seek food. She walked through the office to the door, aimlessly. And put ‘em in little books for remembrance. The clergyman, meanwhile, proceeded with the service, while the coffin was deposited at the brink of the grave. " "Of what am I accused?" asked Thames, who though a good deal alarmed at first, had now regained his courage. ’ ‘Don’t be stuffy, Hilary,’ admonished his betrothed. .
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