His father spoke for him. But he did not follow on with the thought. ‘Nothing of the sort,’ argued Gerald. She did not open the Bible but laid it on the edge of the bed, knelt and rested her forehead upon the worn leather cover. Ye gods! what a wilderness it is! Every one trying to get the better of every one, every one regardless of every one—it’s one of those days when every one bumps against you—every one pouring coal smoke into the air and making confusion worse confounded, motor omnibuses clattering and smelling, a horse down in the Tottenham Court Road, an old woman at the corner coughing dreadfully—all the painful sights of a great city, and here you come into it to take your chances. “John, don’t!” she cried.
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