At any rate she must see me. It was a large, littered, self-forgetful apartment, decorated with unframed charcoal sketches by various incipient masters; and an open bookcase, surmounted by plaster casts and the half of a human skull, displayed an odd miscellany of books—Shaw and Swinburne, Tom Jones, Fabian Essays, Pope and Dumas, cheek by jowl. On coming to himself, he found he had been wrapped in a blanket and put to bed with a couple of hot bricks to his feet. ’ ‘What sort of “down on your luck”?’ asked Alderley. The villagers were thronging to church. Nothing else so quickly establishes the condition of comradeship as the sharing of a laughable incident. Winds returned, the gardens withered, and roses would not bloom.
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