"What has happened?" asked Sister Prudence. She had adored the stupid thing, and kept it in her pocket for about ten years. Notwithstanding her emaciation, her features still retained something of a pleasing expression, and might have been termed beautiful, had it not been for that repulsive freshness of lip denoting the habitual dram-drinker; a freshness in her case rendered the more shocking from the almost livid hue of the rest of her complexion. He would get her to come to tea with him, usually in a pleasant tea-room over a fruit-shop in Tottenham Court Road, and he would discuss his own point of view and hint at a thousand devotions were she but to command him. ‘You said?’ ‘Mrs Sindlesham, your great-aunt, miss. He was profoundly stirred. Ah, no, I have it wrong.
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