It’s an instinct. “Do you want some of mine?” “Yes. She made me over. Even in the daylight, it had a sombre and suspicious air, and seemed to slink back from the adjoining houses, as if afraid of their society. The ticket line filtered slowly into the glass doors, growing louder and more boisterous by the minute. I must finish it at home. The three clerks fought for the only window, and saw her whisked into a hansom. Neither would she allow herself to feel guilty nor would she allow him to find a way into the house. It was finished by the end of that year, each character having asserted itself pronouncedly in my imagination.
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