I'm one of those unfortunate duffers who have too much imagination—the kind who build their own chimeras and then run away from them. "What's the matter?" he cried. ” He said nothing for a space. In fact, the whole face had undergone a transformation. 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. As he proceeded, other painful reminiscences were aroused. Then, I thought, she has repented, all will be well. My father thought the latter. You will survive, mark my words.
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