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“There ought to be a Censorship of Books. “Why won’t you sleep in my bed tonight, Lucia, where 80 it’s warm?” He asked her one night, teasing but mournful, as she stood in her bedroom doorway in a long white gown. Manning leaned forward on the table, talking discursively on the probable brilliance of their married life. She knew that in her new rôle she was as likely as not to be a rank failure. ” The girl sat up and looked at him with a curious twist at the corners of her mouth —humorous or pathetic, he could not tell which. Ramage!” she cried, and struggled to her feet. Accordingly, when she arrived at the Shovels, with which, as an old haunt in her bygone days of wretchedness she was well acquainted, instead of entering the principal apartment, which she saw at a glance was crowded with company of both sexes, she turned into a small room on the left of the bar, and, as an excuse for so doing, called for something to drink. “I looked for you on the way home from The Big Apple, where were you?” Lucy smiled. " "Quite the contrary," rejoined the woollen-draper, laughing good-humouredly. “No, it was simple. She loved to be there, taking part in it all, breathing it, being it.
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