“When did you get home last night, Lucy?” Cathy interrogated through a yawn. Ye gods! what a wilderness it is! Every one trying to get the better of every one, every one regardless of every one—it’s one of those days when every one bumps against you—every one pouring coal smoke into the air and making confusion worse confounded, motor omnibuses clattering and smelling, a horse down in the Tottenham Court Road, an old woman at the corner coughing dreadfully—all the painful sights of a great city, and here you come into it to take your chances. He stood up and she ushered him out of the small room. With the same inducements we should all do the same thing. To him she had always appeared as a mere pleasure-loving parasite—something quite insignificant. But calmer thoughts quickly succeeded. “Ugh!” she said. ‘I had no need of the place, and there was no money, of course. To write under a pseudonym!—to be forced to disown his children! He could not write under his own name, enjoy the fruits of fame should these tales prove successful.
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