taught to look on as a kind of prison where those who were unfit to live,
and could not live, and yet would not die, were put away out of sight.
For those who went to gaol for doing wrong there was hope; not so for the
penniless, friendless incapables who drifted or were dragged into the
dreary refuge of the "House." They might come out again when the weather
was warm, and try to renew the struggle in which they had suffered
defeat; but their case would be then like that of the fighter who has
been felled to the earth, and staggers up, half stunned and blinded with
blood, to renew the combat with an uninjured opponent. And yet the words
she had heard, while persistently remaining in her mind, did not impress
her very much then. She was tired and dazed, and had nothing to live for,
and was powerless to think and plan for herself: she was ready to go
wherever she was bidden, and ask no questions and make no trouble. So she
went and sat down in a dark corner, without making any reply. With eyes
closed and her tired head resting against the wall, she remained for half
an hour in that impassive state, saying no word in answer to Mrs. Clark's
occasional remarks, as she moved about preparing the six o'clock meal.

Then the husband came in, and being a silent man, said nothing when his
wife told him that Margaret was dead at the hospital. When she proceeded
to add that Joe would sell the sticks and go off, leaving Fan on their
hands, and that Fan would have to go to the House, he only nodded his
head and went on with his tea.

Fan drank her tea and ate her bread-and-butter, and then once more
returned to her seat, and after some time she fell asleep, leaning her
head against the wall. She woke with a start two hours later to find
herself alone in the room, but there was still some fire in the grate,
and a candle burning on the table. The heavy steps of a man on the stairs
had woke her, and she knew that Joe Harrod was coming down from his room.