She walked down the station approach, past the neat, obtrusive offices of the coal merchant and the house agent, and so to the wicket-gate by the butcher’s shop that led to the field path to her home. So saying, he manfully resumed his work; while Wood and Thames quitted the room, and went down stairs. Against the sinister, the threatening, monstrous inhumanity of the limitless city, there was nothing now but this supreme, ugly fact of a pursuit— the pursuit of the undesired, persistent male. So it will be wise for Mrs. Jackson. Or he would find something—a wave in her hair, a little line in the contour of her brow or neck, that made an exquisite discovery. She stood without motion and without strength.
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