It was bare of any furnishings. Gin is the poor man's friend,—his sole set-off against the rich man's luxury. He is the kind of man who would much prefer a little dust in his eyes. Her loneliness was consuming, Lucia. " So saying, he unlocked the door and strode out of the room. She had a feeling at his departure as of an immense cavity, of something enormously gone; she could not tell whether it was infinite regret or infinite relief. Many’s the young ’un I’ve seen get hisself into just such a knuckleheaded mess all on account of a pretty wench. A spot of colour, brighter than any rouge, burned on her cheeks. “I was glad you did not send it back again,” he said.
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