quick, hoarse tone, a tone alas! which Kitty at one time in their
joint lives had come to associate with deep feeling on his part,
in those days when she used to come and tell the lonely man of her
sorrows, of her temptations, and of her vague, upward aspirations....

She lurched a little towards him. Everything was going far better
than she could have hoped; why, Sherston did not seem angry, hardly
annoyed, at her unheralded return!

Suddenly he felt her thin, strong arms closing round his body, in
a horrible vice-like grip--

"Don't touch me!" he cried fiercely; and making a greater physical
effort than he would have thought himself capable of, he shook
himself violently free.

He saw her reel backwards and fall, with a queer grotesque movement,
head over heels down the stone steps. The dull thud her body made
as she fell on the half landing echoed up and down the bare well
of the staircase.

Sherston's heart smote him. He had not meant to do THAT. Then
he reminded himself bitterly that drunkards always fall soft. She
could not have hurt herself much, falling that little way.

He waited a few moments; then, as she made no effort to raise
herself, he walked down, slowly, unwillingly, towards her. From
the little he could see in the dim light cast from above, Kitty
was lying very oddly, all in a heap, her head against the wall.