13 Montague Street. “And to think that it’s not a full year ago since I was a black-hearted rebel school-girl, distressed, puzzled, perplexed, not understanding that this great force of love was bursting its way through me! All those nameless discontents—they were no more than love’s birth-pangs. If she had any idea at all, it was something she dimly recalled from her books: something celestially beautiful, with a happy ending. It’s 180 endearing. He came down the shop looking for her quite obviously, and took up a position on the other side against a mirror in which he was able to regard her steadfastly. Everything in the world to live for!—fame that he could not reap, love that he must not take! What was all this pother about hell as a future state? By and by things began to stir on the table: little invisible things. Day after day she pounded him with curses, saying that her mother looked down on him from Heaven and sent a curse, to which he laughed.
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