His hat, too, he took, and went to the parlour.
'I have to go out, mother,' he said, standing at the door.

'I'll be back by supper-time.' 'Very well, my dear,' was the quiet reply.
He walked out to the edge of the pavement, and stood a moment, as if in doubt as to his direction.

Then he looked at the upper windows of the house, as we saw him do one night half a year ago.

There was a light this time in the sisters' room.
He turned towards Lambeth Walk.

The market of Christmas Eve was flaring and clamorous; the odours of burning naphtha and fried fish were pungent on the wind.