” “I still——” Anna stopped short. The monster, Wild, when he visited my dungeon last night, told me, to add to my misery, that she occupied a cell near me. The London backgrounds, in Bloomsbury and Marylebone, against which these people went to and fro, took on, by reason of their gray facades, their implacably respectable windows and window-blinds, their reiterated unmeaning iron railings, a stronger and stronger suggestion of the flavor of her father at his most obdurate phase, and of all that she felt herself fighting against. He sent me home. He wanted to know what the joke against him was—if any.
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