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Tams on the stairs, blindly, with lowered head. In the conjugal bedroom, full of gas-glare and shadows, there were two old women. One was Mrs. Tams, ministering; the other was Rachel Fores, once and not long ago the beloved and courted girlish Louise of a chevalier, now aged by all the sorrow of the world. She lay in bed in her bed nearest the fireplace and farthest from the door.
The assortment was meagre at that late hour, but she selected a tiny bunch of delicate, fragrant, hot-house blossoms, and, shielding them with her shawl, hastened home. The studio was brilliant with gas-glare and warm with the breath of anthracite, but an aspect of dreariness, silence, and sorrow predominated.
Don't you fancy there might be something in it if you think of where they come from the woods and copses, children playing, and all that and of what they've come to the gas-glare and drunken laughter and jeers. I would make them tell their own story I would make them cry to Heaven for swift death and oblivion before the last degradation of being pinned on to the flaunting dress."
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