She guarded her mother, or at least she had liked to think so. “Forty guineas a week. ’” She played “If I Were a Rich Man,” adding syrupy trills and flourishes at every phrase. It would be very hard perhaps to make you understand just how I feel about it. Valade, who was standing by her chair, glancing around the packed pink-papered saloon with a heavy frown on his face, was a thickset man of coarse, reddened feature, with a discontented air. Miss Mary and me, and Martha too sometimes. Before the full sentence was carried into execution, he was taken into a small room adjoining the court. Day by day she followed the spiritual and physical contest between this man and woman. She was very greatly exercised by the two systems of values—the two series of explanations that her comparative anatomy on the one hand and her sense of beauty on the other, set going in her thoughts. The condition of the rooms was indescribably filthy and disgusting; nor were the habits of the occupants much more cleanly.
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