A cat came and rubbed herself against him as he entered the house, and seemed by her mewing to ask him for food. He was in front of one of the more imposing of the cafés chantants—opposite, illuminated with a whole row of lights, was the wonderful poster which had helped to make ‘Alcide’ famous. The truth at once flashed across his mind. Oh dear!—how sorry I am I ever left Wych Street. And like that gospel it meant something, something different from its phrases, something elusive, and yet something that in spite of the superficial incoherence of its phrasing, was largely essentially true. Not even, it seemed, this interfering monsieur le major. But, indeed, he’s very human. Worse than any man.
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