Crowds--mostly of women--were surging,
bustling, and pacing up and down. Gaslights glared from butchers'
stalls, illuminating the lumps of flesh to splotches of orange and
vermilion, like the wild colouring of Turner's later pictures,
whilst the purl and babble of tongues of every pitch and mood was
to this human wild-wood what the ripple of a brook is to the
natural forest.
Nearly ten minutes passed. Then Knight also came to the window.
'Well, now, I call a cab and vanish down the street in the
direction of Berkeley Square,' he said, buttoning his waistcoat
and kicking his morning suit into a corner. Stephen rose to
leave.
'What a heap of literature!' remarked the young man, taking a
final longing survey round the room, as if to abide there for ever
would be the great pleasure of his life, yet feeling that he had
almost outstayed his welcome-while. His eyes rested upon an arm-
chair piled full of newspapers, magazines, and bright new volumes
in green and red.
'Yes,' said Knight, also looking at them and breathing a sigh of
weariness; 'something must be done with several of them soon, I
suppose. Stephen, you needn't hurry away for a few minutes, you
know, if you want to stay; I am not quite ready. Overhaul those
volumes whilst I put on my coat, and I'll walk a little way with
you.'
Stephen sat down beside the arm-chair and began to tumble the
books about. Among the rest he found a novelette in one volume,
THE COURT OF KELLYON CASTLE.
Pages:
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191