Wood, in deploring his wild career, adverted to the melancholy condition to which it had reduced his mother. She is my only family. There could not, he decided, possibly be two girls so much alike. As a net result she had come to think of all married people much as one thinks of insects that have lost their wings, and of her sisters as new hatched creatures who had scarcely for a moment had wings. “Some afternoon. Making her couch upon a heap of hay, she sank at once into a deep and refreshing slumber. Taking his way along East Smithfield, mounting Little Tower-hill, and threading the Minories and Hounsditch, he arrived without accident or molestation, at Moorfields. Now, do what you please. "Pick up that blade, Nab," vociferated Wild, finding himself hotly pressed, "and stab him. ‘Damnation! Too late. Then she would have quiet times, in which she would say to herself, “Now look here! Let me think it all out!” For the first time, it seemed to her, she faced the facts of a woman’s position in the world—the meagre realities of such freedom as it permitted her, the almost unavoidable obligation to some individual man under which she must labor for even a foothold in the world. ” She felt humiliated.
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