"With all my heart!" replied Wood. He too looked at the girl, slackened his pace and looked at her again through his eye-glasses, looked over his shoulder after he had passed, and finally came to a dead stop. They crossed the street, and entering the front door passed up the outside stone steps of the flat. “Too late, my dear girl,” she exclaimed. Her eyes were perhaps a little brighter than usual, the firelight played about her hair, there seemed to him to be a sudden softening of the straight firm mouth. Another horn now resounded from the further extremity of the thoroughfare; this was answered by a third; and presently a fourth, and more remote blast, took up the note of alarm. There are no funerals among the poor, only burials.
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