. She finished the olive and looked up. It was bad luck to go to Canongate. Get it off your soul. Instead had come this storm, this shouting, this weeping, this confusion of threats and irrelevant appeals. He grabbed her hair viciously and whispered loudly into her tear-streaked face. He entered it; crossed the room, in which there was only a small truckle-bed, over which he stumbled; opened another door and gained the stair-head. Hastening along the passage he came to the sixth door. Still —there you are!” He paused. “Whenever they try to take hold of life a man intervenes.
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