" "That boy'll never rest till he finds his vay to Bridewell," observed Sharples. “Until you marry, Vee,” said Hetty. ” Cathy insisted. ‘Lover’s tiff indeed. He remembered that he had heard stories about the wonderful likeness between these two sisters, one of whom was an artist and a recluse, whilst the other had attached herself to a very gay and a very brilliant little coterie of pleasure-seekers. They don’t catch on to discursive interests, you see, because they are more serious, they are concentrated on the central reality of life, and a little impatient of its—its outer aspects. In the periphery of her vision, she saw the door pulled back. He noted an ebony cane laid close to hand, which suggested she was able to get about. Who was he?” “Intriguing.
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