Its surface was swept clean of
even the vaguest anticipation of
anything not to be desired. Smiling as
it did through the black doorway
into the unrelieved shadow of the
passage, it struck Antony Dart at
once that it actually implied this--
and that in this place--and indeed
in any place--nothing could have
been more astonishing. What
could, indeed?
"Well, well," she said, "come in,
Glad, bless yer."
"I've brought a gent to 'ear
yer talk a bit," Glad explained
informally.
The small old woman raised her
twinkling old face to look at him.
"Ah!" she said, as if summing up
what was before her. " 'E thinks
it 's worse than it is, doesn't 'e, now?
Come in, sir, do."
This time it struck Dart that her
look seemed actually to anticipate the
evolving of some wonderful and desirable
thing from himself. As if even
his gloom carried with it treasure as
yet undisplayed. As she knew nothing
of the ten sovereigns, he wondered
what, in God's name, she saw.
The poverty of the little square
room had an odd cheer in it. Much
scrubbing had removed from it the
objections manifest in Glad's room
above. There was a small red fire
in the grate, a strip of old, but gay
carpet before it, two chairs and a
table were covered with a harlequin
patchwork made of bright odds and
ends of all sizes and shapes. The
fog in all its murky volume could
not quite obscure the brightness of
the often rubbed window and its
harlequin curtain drawn across upon
a string.
Pages:
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60