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It was as if the Devil himself had raped and defiled her mother. He carried a cane and a silk hat with a mourning-band in one gray-gloved hand; his frock-coat and trousers were admirable; his handsome face, his black mustache, his prominent brow conveyed an eager solicitude. It seemed to make her sister downcast beyond any precedent. “I can sing the songs ‘Alcide’ sang, and in the same style. The beautiful gowns and the flashing bare shoulders and arms of the women had disturbed and distressed her. Manning, I do not think I love you. She went about in a negligent November London that had become very dark and foggy and greasy and forbidding indeed, and tried to find that modest but independent employment she had so rashly assumed. For a few days he was able to relegate his conscience to the background.
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