But there it was, looming up nearer and nearer with every heavenly English day that passed.

There was nothing for it but to go back--go back, thrust one's neck into the collar again, and sweat and be galled to the end.

He had no ambitions connected with his profession.

He realised loathingly in these days that he had always been waiting, waiting.
The big, bright-faced woman who was always hanging about Hester, doing her favours, he actually began to watch feverishly.

She was such a fool; she always looked so healthy, and she was specially such a fool over Walderhurst.