house might be where her blood-thirsty ancestor had lived; also, if
it had ever occurred to him that one of his descendants, a girl,
would be wandering about Soho with scarce enough for her daily
needs. In time, she grew to love the old houses, which seemed ever
to mourn their long-lost grandeur, which still seemed full of echoes
of long-dead voices, which were ill-reconciled to the base uses to
which they were now put. Perhaps she, also, loved them because she
grew to compare their fallen state with that of her own family; it
seemed that she and they had much in common; and shared misfortunes
beget sympathy.

Thus Mavis worked and dreamed.




CHAPTER EIGHT

SPIDER AND FLY


One night, Mavis went back to "Dawes'" earlier than usual. She was
wearing the boots bought with her carefully saved pence; these
pinched her feet, making her weary and irritable. She wondered if
she would have the bedroom to herself while she undressed. Of late,
the queenly Miss Potter had given up going out for the evening and
returning at all hours in the morning. Her usual robust health had
deserted her; she was constantly swallowing drugs; she would go out
for long walks after shop hours, to return about eleven, completely
exhausted, when she would hold long, whispered conversations with