“But about last night. She had not chosen her life, but she was foggy on whether or not it was right to deny others the right to join her in her suffering. She frowned, appearing to think for a moment. His eyes swept down and Melusine felt the quiver at her lips where he gazed. I must apologize, I suppose, for speaking to you, but your appearance certainly indicated that you were in some sort of trouble, and you were becoming—pardon me—an object of comment to the passers-by. He meant to take her out of this room, perhaps even out of the house. Accordingly, when she arrived at the Shovels, with which, as an old haunt in her bygone days of wretchedness she was well acquainted, instead of entering the principal apartment, which she saw at a glance was crowded with company of both sexes, she turned into a small room on the left of the bar, and, as an excuse for so doing, called for something to drink. It was painful to want him so much.
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