"Vill this do?" demanded the constable, taking the candle from the lantern, the better to display the narrow limits of the hole. And in reality even that magic garden-close resolves itself into a villa at Morningside Park and my father being more and more cross and overbearing at meals—and a general feeling of insecurity and futility. The weather's been foul enough for the last fortnight, but I've never turned my back upon it. The one profession, the one decent profession, I mean, for a woman—except the stage— is teaching, and there we trample on one another. There was no other door in it, and Jack therefore struck into another entry which branched off to the right.
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