On the next morning—Sunday—the day on which he expected his mother's funeral to take place, he set out along the Harrow Road. Here, might be seen a poor fellow whose teeth were knocked down his throat, spluttering out the most tremendous menaces, and gesticulating like a madman: there, another, whose nose was partially slit, vented imprecations and lamentations in the same breath. Wood had prevented him from paying much attention to the previous scene. Ruth made a little gesture, of infinite pity; and this was quickly seized upon by the slant-eyed Chinese girl. As he passed along the main thoroughfare, he heard his own name pronounced, and found that it was a hawker, crying a penny history of his escapes. The air became hot and swollen with June humidity. But one day he came to me. The London backgrounds, in Bloomsbury and Marylebone, against which these people went to and fro, took on, by reason of their gray facades, their implacably respectable windows and window-blinds, their reiterated unmeaning iron railings, a stronger and stronger suggestion of the flavor of her father at his most obdurate phase, and of all that she felt herself fighting against.
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