"Oh, how dull it was! Do you know the little back streets in a manufacturing town?
Rows of small houses, side by side, with nothing to relieve them of their ugly regularity, each with the self-same windows, the self-same door, the self-same door-step.

Overhead a drift of smoke, and every little green thing down to the plants in the window dirty and black.

The sort of street whence any crazy religious charlatan who can promise a little colour to their grey lives can get as many votaries as he wants.

Well, when I thought over my life, one of those little streets always came into my mind.

There are women, heaps of them, no doubt, to whom the management of a big house, the season in London, the ordinary round of visits, are sufficient.