” She looked at him; his face, downcast and in profile, was handsome and strong. He was tender with her as he had not been in years. Clotilde pried Fritz from Lucy’s left leg where he was clinging. Something or other—she did not catch what—he was damned if he could stand. 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. If Thames Darrell escapes, you will lose both life and property. Then there was Tom Jarrot, the hackney-coachman, who was pitched off the box against yonder curbstone, and broke his leg.
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