Such pretty manners, she thought. “Hello, John. We’ll find a way to survive. “Indeed, no,” he answered. It was a great weight from her shoulders to confide in another human being, and she suspected he did truly believe her. Ye gods! what a wilderness it is! Every one trying to get the better of every one, every one regardless of every one—it’s one of those days when every one bumps against you—every one pouring coal smoke into the air and making confusion worse confounded, motor omnibuses clattering and smelling, a horse down in the Tottenham Court Road, an old woman at the corner coughing dreadfully—all the painful sights of a great city, and here you come into it to take your chances. But days had now passed. In his muscular pudgy hand was a photograph, frayed at the corners, soiled from the contact of many hands: the portrait of a youth of eighteen. Ennison kicked it away with his foot. Sheppard made an effort to speak, but her voice was choked by emotion.
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