Towards night, however, he ventured out, and walked on towards London. Manning’s letter. It presented itself in the likeness of a great, gray, dull world—a brutal, superstitious, confused, and wrong-headed world, that hurt people and limited people unaccountably. On that night,—that fatal night,—Winifred crushed all the hopes that were rising in my heart. She had looked up from her seat at the small round table in the centre of the parlour which, together with the wooden armchairs beside the small fireplace, and a sideboard next the single casement, was all the furniture the place afforded.
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