" As he spoke, a smile crossed Sheppard's countenance. “Why shouldn’t one face the facts of one’s self?” She stood up. He was nearly wincing. Will you read to me? I am tired; and the sound of your voice makes me drowsy. You yourself supplied the details. She walked down the station approach, past the neat, obtrusive offices of the coal merchant and the house agent, and so to the wicket-gate by the butcher’s shop that led to the field path to her home. They are our food, Lucia, nothing more. Anything in the least irregular is like poison to him. The knowledge breathed into her heart a satisfying warmth. It worked.
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