“Perhaps,” she said, “it is the London climate. The lamp was not yet lit, and in the dim light he bent forward as though trying to look into her averted face. In the distance a bell clanged, and chattering broke out in the doorway as several nuns came crowding in. He began really to like Spurlock, despite the shadow of the boy's past, despite his inexplicable attitude toward this glorious girl. Everywhere I went and rapped at a door I found behind it another dreadful dingy woman—another fallen queen, I suppose— dingier than the last, dirty, you know, in grain. Cheveney walked away with a shrug of the shoulders. She grew perhaps a shade paler, and she glanced out into the street, where her four-wheeler cab, laden with luggage, was still waiting.
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