In a little while—to-morrow—all these tender, beautiful emotions will pass away, and I'll become what I was yesterday, a cynical, miserly old spinster. She walked through the walls. A few yards further off something grey, inert, was lying, a huddled-up heap of humanity twisted into a strange unnatural shape. The morning of Monday the 16th of November 1724 at length dawned. He was bringing the sing-song girl to the hotel! The strange cortège presently vanished below the window-sill. Any natural fineness would be numbed by drink. She was at the end of girlhood and on the eve of a woman’s crowning experience. Instead, they appeared to be at the hygienic level of tramps’ lodging-houses. Gerald raised his cockaded hat, and smiled.
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