The walls were of immense thickness; the small windows double-grated and unglazed; the fire-place was without a grate; and a barrack-bed, divided into two compartments, occupied one corner. She stole her glances sideways like the rest of the women. They were in many respects so right; she clung to that, and shirked more and more the paradoxical conviction that they were also somehow, and even in direct relation to that rightness, absurd. She drifted, via Theobald’s Road, obliquely toward the region about Titchfield Street. She liked the high, easy swing of the thing over its big wheels, the quick clatter-patter of the horse, the passage of the teeming streets. Superstition—you knock into it whichever way you turn. ‘You know what I am about,’ exclaimed Melusine impatiently. Rich folks, once. So I come round the other way and—Lordy, miss, I’m that sorry I made a mull of it. Then he stood up and repeated it again.
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