"I'll go to her directly," said Wood, bustling towards the door. These were less like streets than labyrinths, hewn through an eternal twilight. “She told you that?” “Yes. She made a curious movement toward her niece, then suddenly, convulsively, she dabbed down something lumpy on the table and turned to follow her brother. The very carts and vans and cabs that Wellington Street poured out incessantly upon the bridge seemed ripe and good in her eyes. “There are some people,” he said at last, “who seem fated to carry on their shoulders the burdens of other people. ” He crossed himself and grinned.
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