. She had had to do away with many a leering foster father since she had started frequenting foster homes in the middle of the century. ” “It’s an unrest—a longing—What’s that?” The waiter had intervened. She thought of him as always courteous and helpful, as realizing, indeed, his ideal of protection and service, as chivalrously leaving her free to live her own life, rejoicing with an infinite generosity in every detail of her irresponsive being. At the corner of Liquorpond Street stood the old Hampstead coach-office; and, on the night in question, a knot of hostlers, waggoners, drivers, and stable-boys was collected in the yard.
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