Kneebone, then, sat down to await the arrival of his expected guest. Her aunt was making herself cuffs out of little slips of insertion under the newly lit lamp. The picture of her flashed across the doctor's vision magically. At last, a little way to the northward of Euston Road, the moral cloud seemed to lift, the moral atmosphere to change; clean blinds appeared in the windows, clean doorsteps before the doors, a different appeal in the neatly placed cards bearing the word ————————————— | APARTMENTS ————————————— | in the clear bright windows. Good-bye, aunt. Master Thames Ditton, I'll do your biddin'; and you, Misther Quilt Arnold, may do your worst, I defy you.
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