"It's wretched enough, indeed, Sir," rejoined the widow; "but, poor as it is, it's better than the cold stones and open streets. Sooner or later we’ll certainly do something to clean those prisons you told me about—limewash the underside of life. What would happen to her? Would her soul be shaken, twisted, hypnotized?—as it had been those other times? Music—that took out of her the sense of reality, whirled her into the clouds, that gave to her will the directless energy of a chip of wood on stormy waters. When were you last confessed, Sir Rowland?" he added abruptly. ” He faced her doggedly. He hesitated. He was not due from the City until about six, and so she went and played Badminton with the Widgett girls until dinner-time.
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