He looked up to see an ancient coach making its ponderous way down the street. "The ban-dogs!" thundered a tall man, whose stature and former avocations had procured him the nickname of "The long drover of the Borough market. Perhaps at the first blush—it strikes you as odd. ‘Pen and paper, do you have them?’ ‘Danged if I have,’ came the truculent response. He told her something about music, the great world outside. Her little bedsitting-room was like a lair, and she went out from it into this vast, dun world, with its smoke-gray houses, its glaring streets of shops, its dark streets of homes, its orange-lit windows, under skies of dull copper or muddy gray or black, much as an animal goes out to seek food. ” John greeted him. It’s one of our conventional superstitions. He filled her glass with champagne.
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