The night had swallowed him up, but his work on her was done. As she approached, the carpenter's wife eyed her from head to foot, in the hope of finding something in her person or apparel to quarrel with. I thought it was a mirror at the first, for it was so very like myself. The London backgrounds, in Bloomsbury and Marylebone, against which these people went to and fro, took on, by reason of their gray facades, their implacably respectable windows and window-blinds, their reiterated unmeaning iron railings, a stronger and stronger suggestion of the flavor of her father at his most obdurate phase, and of all that she felt herself fighting against. "This tongue looks remarkably nice," he added, slicing off an immense wedge, "excuse me—ho! ho!" "You make yourself at home, I perceive," observed Kneebone, with a look of ineffable disgust.
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