. "Your father—poor imbecile!—believes we ran away together. ‘Will that be all, ma’am?’ ‘Yes, yes. It was as if Grace-church Street, with all its shops, its magazines, and ceaseless throng of passengers, were stretched from the Middlesex to the Surrey shore. The beach: to get there as quickly as he could, to reach the white man's nadir of abasement and gather the promise of that soothing indifference which comes with the final disintegration of the fibres of conscience. At length he proceeded toward McClintock's bungalow, drawn by the lights and the sound of music. Such names shone brightly in the darkness, with black spaces of unilluminated emptiness about them, as stars shine in the night; but now—now it was different; now it was dawn—the real dawn.
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