“Aren’t we all just odds and ends of humanity —the left-overs, you know. Wood heard the cry. He remembered also, all at once, the very first words he had heard her speak: “I was not born to this. The road which wound by Westbourne Green, gave him a full view of the hill of Hampstead with its church, its crest of houses, and its villas peeping from out the trees. “Why, among other things, did I put my knuckles in his neck—deliberately to hurt him?” She tried to sound the humorous note. When the paroxysm passed, he was forced to lean against the window-jamb for support.
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