She walked down the station approach, past the neat, obtrusive offices of the coal merchant and the house agent, and so to the wicket-gate by the butcher’s shop that led to the field path to her home. They were all stout ill-favoured men, attired in the regular jail-livery of scratch wig and snuff-coloured suit; and had all a strong family likeness to each other. Without turning or looking in his direction she leaned forwards, her head supported upon her fingers, her elbows upon her knees. “I want to ask you a question,” she said abruptly. So Ruth found that for a while her eyes were free. I ought never to have thought of it. . Get me an interview with her. " "Till midnight," replied Jack.
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