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The night was now profoundly dark. “I wish he had,” she said. ” “I suppose,” said Constance, stencilling away at bright pink petals, “it’s our lot. Hitherto in the world’s history there had been precursors of this Progress at great intervals, voices that had spoken and ceased, but now it was all coming on together in a rush. Her mind left her. How long he continued thus he scarcely knew; but just before dawn, he managed to regain his legs, and, crawling up a bank, perceived he was within a quarter of a mile of Tottenham. It was a perfect windless spring day, a Sunday.
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