“YOU wouldn’t like to be independent?” he asked, abruptly. It was his redemption, his ticket out of hell—that blue-serge coat. It would be the wrappered world almost at its best. Loneliness—something that was almost physical: as if the vitality had been taken out of the air she breathed. " And he raised it in his arms. That would be an unkind twist of fate. . Well, well; all he himself could do would be to watch this singular drama unroll. He was accustomed to such surprises, and enjoyed them. Unwillingly he drew a little nearer, and became one of the group of loiterers about the entrance.
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