He lit a cigarette and loitered about. She was dressed in a tattered black stuff gown, discoloured by various stains, and intended, it would seem, from the remnants of rusty crape with which it was here and there tricked out, to represent the garb of widowhood, and held in her arms a sleeping infant, swathed in the folds of a linsey-woolsey shawl. It was a neat, efficient-looking room, with a writing-table placed with a business-like regard to the window, and a bookcase surmounted by a pig’s skull, a dissected frog in a sealed bottle, and a pile of shiny, black-covered note-books. I want to talk to you, and I must return tomorrow. Then suddenly with a rush came reality, came “growing up”; a hasty imperative appeal for seriousness, for supreme seriousness. She had thought that all Morningside Park householders came home before seven at the latest, as her father usually did. Gosse had hidden himself successfully then. Something that is born anew each time we meet, and pines when we are separated. White, my landlady, believes his story. “Just do it. ” He was still conscious when they reached the hospital and his state was much more favourable. “I’ll bring it to-morrow.
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