A barrel-organ below was playing some horrible music-hall air, and every vibrant note was like a hammer on one's nerves.

The grinder's bedraggled Italian wife perceiving me at the window grinned up at me with the national curve of the palm.

She had a black eye which the cacophonous fiend had probably given her, and she grinned like a happy child of nature.

Men in my position do not blacken women's eyes; but it is only a question of manners.

Was I, for that, less of a brute male than the scowling beast at the organ?
The sudden sound of a sob made me turn to Judith, who had broken down and was crying bitterly, her face hidden in her hands.