And let us go on with our evening. “Shari told me. About nine o'clock, an immense mob collected before the Lodge at Newgate. Besides, you cannot tell where it will end. It was empty. She tried to compose her thoughts, to think of the last six months, to steep herself in the calm beauty of the surroundings. ’ Martha frowned. Life! Life and love! It makes me want to be always young, always strong, always devoting my life—and dying splendidly. He had not been successful as the world counted success; the fat bank-account, the filled waiting room of which he had once dreamed, had never materialized except in the smoke of his evening pipe. He hung over her—he and his loan to her and his connection with her and that terrible evening—a vague, disconcerting possibility of annoyance and exposure. In all this world there was no sacred ground that said to her: Return! She was of all human beings the most lonely. Shari draped herself lazily upon her unmade bed.
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