“Thank you, Martin,” she replied graciously. At last some anodyne formed itself from these exercises, and, with eyelashes wet with such feeble tears as only three-o’clock-in-the-morning pathos can distil, she fell asleep. The shops were lighting up into gigantic lanterns of color, the street lamps were glowing into existence, and she had lost her way. 73 < 10 > AT HOME, 1982 Lucy woke up the next morning with Shari’s slow sonorous breathing only a few feet away. There was little fighting spirit here. During the previous night he had been restless; and in the lonely dragging hours his thoughts had raced in an endless circle—action without progress. The name of this damsel was Edgeworth Bess; and, as her fascinations will not, perhaps, be found to be without some influence upon the future fortunes of her boyish admirer, we have thought it worth while to be thus particular in describing them.
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