In the little apartment, under the gas chandelier, his inches and his stoop were certainly very effective. ‘She?’ ‘Damnation!’ He saw her frown, and added at once, ‘I beg your pardon, ma’am. From the further end of the apartment came the low music of a violin. Ramage?” he asked. Ennison listened, and he forgot where he was. There wasn’t, I know, between myself and my father. At last, a little way to the northward of Euston Road, the moral cloud seemed to lift, the moral atmosphere to change; clean blinds appeared in the windows, clean doorsteps before the doors, a different appeal in the neatly placed cards bearing the word ————————————— | APARTMENTS ————————————— | in the clear bright windows.
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