“DON’T!” she said, and wrenched her wrist from his retaining hand. Her little bedsitting-room was like a lair, and she went out from it into this vast, dun world, with its smoke-gray houses, its glaring streets of shops, its dark streets of homes, its orange-lit windows, under skies of dull copper or muddy gray or black, much as an animal goes out to seek food. A wide terrace then led to large iron gates,' over which were placed the two celebrated figures of Raving and Melancholy Madness, executed by the elder Cibber, and commemorated by Pope in the Dunciad, in the wellknown lines:— "Close to those walls where Folly holds her throne, And laughs to think Monroe would take her down, Where, o'er the gates, by his famed father's hand, Great Cibber's brazen, brainless brothers stand. "Look at it!" he felt like screaming. She raised this with the air of a conspirator unmasking, and displayed a tear-flushed face. Jonathan aimed a blow at him, which, if it had taken place, must have instantly terminated the strife; but, avoiding this, he sprang at the thief-taker, and grappled with him. No, this was not reasonable. ” She said to them, raising her head to speak, her voice unsteady. Ireton; for may I be hanged myself if I don't believe he'll be as good as his word.
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