Edited by Charles Aldarondo (aldarondo@yahoo.com)

George Gissing

Will Warburton





CHAPTER 1




The sea-wind in his hair, his eyes agleam with the fresh memory of
Alpine snows, Will Warburton sprang out of the cab, paid the driver
a double fare, flung on to his shoulder a heavy bag and ran up, two
steps at a stride, to a flat on the fourth floor of the
many-tenanted building hard by Chelsea Bridge. His rat-tat-tat
brought to the door a thin yellow face, cautious in espial, through
the narrow opening.

"Is it you, sir?"

"All right, Mrs. Hopper! How are you?--how are you?"

He threw his bag into the passage, and cordially grasped the woman's
hands.