“I can’t imagine, Miss Pellissier,” Brendon said, leaning towards her, “whatever made you think of coming to stay if only for a week at a Montague Street boarding-house. "All life is a muddle, and we are all muddlers, more or less. Her heart thudded. ’ He turned to the lodgekeeper behind him, whose shocked fear had given place to a direful frown. I'd like to be alone now. Anna was still holding her cigarette between her fingers. He took a handful of the gravelly mud, with which the platform was covered, and threw the small pebbles, one by one, towards the gleam.
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