She was suddenly grave. Into the second, denominated the Bilbowes,—also a dismal place,—refractory prisoners were thrust, and placed in a kind of stocks, whence the name. What a pity! For all her ignorance of material things—the human inventions which served the physical comforts of man—how much she knew about man himself! She had seen him bereft of all those spiritual props which permit man to walk on two feet instead of four—broken, without resilience. She went about in a negligent November London that had become very dark and foggy and greasy and forbidding indeed, and tried to find that modest but independent employment she had so rashly assumed. Madame Valade was looking heartily bored, he noted, as his searching eyes found out the couple. She walked with long swinging steps, scorning the thought of buses or the tube. “I am the most foolish of men. The wheel and the navigating instruments were sternward, under a spread of heavy canvas, a protection against rain and sun.
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