He stabbed into her with brute force. He laid down the knife, and fixed a searching and distrustful gaze upon the writer, who continued his task, unconscious of anything having happened. For a time she looked at no more apartments, and walked through gaunt and ill-cleaned streets, through the sordid under side of life, perplexed and troubled, ashamed of her previous obtuseness. "As it's getting late, and the porter may be gone to bed," he observed; "I'll take the pass-key, and let myself in. . ” “Some little tiff?” “No; but I don’t think I shall see them. Some of the delicate colour which the afternoon walk had brought into her cheeks had already returned.
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