" "But I'm a poor man. Listen to your mother's prayers, and do not let her die brokenhearted. All the world about her seemed to be—how can one put it?—in wrappers, like a house when people leave it in the summer. "Do you compare your love—a love which all may purchase—with hers? No one has ever loved me. To witness this girl sewing on a loose button, flopping the coat about on her knees, tickled his ironic sense of humour; and laughter bubbled into his throat. I should feel that I had been obliged to find some one else to fight my battles for me. She went on from street to street, and all the glory of London had departed. ‘This from a man who calls himself my friend.
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