The thought caused him an odd kind of pang—of pity, naturally. "I've made no distinction between you, hitherto," answered Wood; "nor shall I do so, unless I'm compelled. At last, a little way to the northward of Euston Road, the moral cloud seemed to lift, the moral atmosphere to change; clean blinds appeared in the windows, clean doorsteps before the doors, a different appeal in the neatly placed cards bearing the word ————————————— | APARTMENTS ————————————— | in the clear bright windows. “Come,” he said, “you can’t be meaning to bury yourself. If there was a Yankee bar-keep in HongKong, James Boyle would soon locate him. She had followed a bobbing white hat and gray jacket until she reached the Euston Road corner of Tottenham Court Road, and there, by the name on a bus and the cries of a conductor, she made a guess of her way.
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