She was a large, resilient girl, with a foolish smile, a still more foolish expression of earnestness, and a throaty contralto voice. The scent of cloying pine dust filled the air as floodlights shone eerily through the jungle gym of new wood. And then she came out into the street, sure only of one thing—that she could not return directly to her lodgings. But with the skill of a fencer he met the blow and broke it, seizing the wrist. “Only so many men neglect their duties. But, be like a son to her. He's on the ragged edge. How does one get work? She walked along the Strand and across Trafalgar Square, and by the Haymarket to Piccadilly, and so through dignified squares and palatial alleys to Oxford Street; and her mind was divided between a speculative treatment of employment on the one hand, and breezes—zephyr breezes—of the keenest appreciation for London, on the other.
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