She has come round by the back streets, just to see if I'd told her the truth." Waymark glanced back and shrugged his shoulders.
"Pooh! Never mind," he said.

"You're used to it." "Used to it! Yes," Julian returned, his face flushing suddenly a deep red, the effect of extraordinary excitement; "and it is driving me mad." Then, after a fit of coughing-- "She found my poem last night, and burnt it." "Burnt it ?" "Yes; simply because she could not understand it.

She said she thought it was waste paper, but I saw, I saw." The 'bus they waited for came up, and they went on their way.

On reaching the neighbourhood of Peckham, they struck off through a complex of small new streets, apparently familiar to Waymark, and came at length to a little shop, also very new, the windows of which displayed a fresh-looking assortment of miscellaneous goods.

There was half a large cheese, marked by the incisions of the tasting-knife; a boiled ham, garlanded; a cone of brawn; a truncated pyramid of spiced beef, released from its American tin; also German sausage and other dainties of the kind.