She hoped the lights would become hot enough to melt her into the floor. The darkness prevented the carpenter from discerning the features or figure of the stranger; and the ceaseless din precluded the possibility of holding any communication by words with him. He wasn't quite hard enough to win worldly success; that was his fault. “Perhaps for me,” she added, with a sudden wistful look out of the bare high window, “a night of beginnings. ‘It is London’s loss, ma’am.
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