132 “I thought you wanted me—you told me so when we kissed in the park!” He cried. At last, a little way to the northward of Euston Road, the moral cloud seemed to lift, the moral atmosphere to change; clean blinds appeared in the windows, clean doorsteps before the doors, a different appeal in the neatly placed cards bearing the word ————————————— | APARTMENTS ————————————— | in the clear bright windows. Mind, I, Baptist Kettleby, say so. Nature is God, Anna, and the greatest artist of us all a pigmy. E. “It really seems as if we shall have to put down marigolds altogether next year,” Aunt Molly repeated three times, “and do away with marguerites.
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