Where is your home?
Why don't you go there?
You have one somewhere, I suppose, haven't you ?" "Y-yes; I had." "Well--where is it ?" "In Philadelphia." "Couldn't you stand it ?" he inquired with a sneer.
"No." She covered her face with her hands.
"Trouble ?" "Y-yes." "Man ?" "Y-y-yes." "Won't they take you back ?" "I--haven't written." "Write.

Home is no stupider than the Canterbury.

Will you write ?" She nodded, hiding her face.
"Then--_that's_ settled.

Meanwhile--" he took both her wrists and drew away her clinging hands: "I'd rather like to win this bet because--the odds are all against me." He smiled, letting her hands swing back and hang inert at her sides.
But she only closed her eyes and shook her head, standing there, slim and tear-stained in her ruffled, wine-stained dinner dress.
And, watching her, he retreated, one step after another, slowly; and slowly closed the door, and went out into the dawn, weary, haggard, the taste of life bitter in his mouth.
"What a spectacle," he sneered, referring to himself, "the vicious god from the machine! Chorus of seraphim.

Apotheosis of little Miss Turveydrop----" He swayed a trine as he walked, but it was not from the wine.
A policeman eyed him unfavourably, "No," said Berkley, "I'm not drunk.