"
The room was now growing dark, and she lighted the lamp. Then she
cowered shiveringly over the reviving fire, feeling as if she
could never be warm again.
The street-lamps were lighted early on that clouded, stormy
evening, and they were a signal to Mr. Jackson, the agent, to
leave his office. He remembered that he had ordered a holiday
dinner, and now found himself in a mood to enjoy it. He had
scarcely left his door before a man, coming up the street with
great strides and head bent down to the snow-laden blast, brushed
roughly against him. The stranger's cap was drawn over his eyes,
and the raised collar of his blue army overcoat nearly concealed
his face. The man hurriedly begged pardon, and was hastening on
when Mr. Jackson's exclamation of surprise caused him to stop and
look at the person he had jostled.
"Why, Mr. Marlow," the agent began, "I'm glad to see you. It's a
pleasure I feared I should never have again."
"My wife," the man almost gasped, "she's still in the house I
rented of you?"
"Oh, certainly," was the hasty reply.
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