He slid out of her. For a time she looked at no more apartments, and walked through gaunt and ill-cleaned streets, through the sordid under side of life, perplexed and troubled, ashamed of her previous obtuseness. She turned away from the doorway of the silk loom to observe. “Annabel! God in Heaven, it is Annabel!” She did not speak. As concertmaster, it was Lucy’s duty to seat the orchestra as well as tune them. And it filled seven sheets of notepaper, each written only on one side. "What's the matter?" demanded Jonathan, harshly. "But to drag this innocent child into the muck! With her head full of book nonsense—love stories and fairy stories! Have you any idea of the tragedy she is bound to stumble upon some day? I don't care about you.
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