" "What's the matter, Ruth?" asked Spurlock, anxiously. I—I don’t understand,” the man faltered wearily. “To the best of my belief, I have not a single English acquaintance in the city. Sister Angelina shook her head as if to say that such ignorance was beyond her. White is proud of her drawing-room evenings. Take it, I tell you. To dream and to labour: to you, my labour; to Ruth, my dreams. God only knows what I have done, or left undone. It was she who had come out from the flat only a few minutes before. At least the sun would not be as bright, which was a welcome reprieve from the mercilessly bright early summer days which had invigorated every man, woman, and child in the suburbs but were wearing Lucy down into acute fatigue, along with her hunger.
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