Sir John, by instinct and training, was an unimaginative person. Then he looked towards his granddaughter once more, who had flounced away to the window at her greataunt’s interruption. The world isn't real yet; she hasn't comparisons by which to govern her acts. Jim is up to the neck in Mahatmas and Theosophy and Higher Thought and rot—writes letters worse than Alice. Her little bedsitting-room was like a lair, and she went out from it into this vast, dun world, with its smoke-gray houses, its glaring streets of shops, its dark streets of homes, its orange-lit windows, under skies of dull copper or muddy gray or black, much as an animal goes out to seek food. But her husband, whose deportment to her was considerably changed since the fatal knot had been tied, paid no attention whatever to her grief. ” She said. "Yes—what do you mean, Ma'am?" added Jack, staggering after her. Come down, I say, instantly, or I'll make you. "Poor fellow! I'm glad he has escaped.
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