"Thank you, sir," said Spurlock, holding out his hand. You can do anything you please. It was a queer little bed-sitting-room almost in the roof, with a partition right across it. She had had two days of employment-seeking now. "Thank Heaven!" she gasped. It must be sent home this evening. . He would never be able to compose upon it, but it would serve to produce the finished work. But after all, what did it matter whether she had secrets or not? To him she was not a woman but a symbol; and one did not investigate the antecedents of symbols. She found herself alone in the train asking herself what she must do next, and trying not to think of herself as cut off from home or any refuge whatever from the world she had resolved to face. “We’re going to be sensible.
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