She resolved to write to the matron and ask if she might hope to be forgiven and employed at the Refuge again.

Occupation over the letter that was easy to write might have its fortifying effect on her mind, and might pave the way for resuming the letter that was hard to write.

She waited a moment at the window, thinking of the past life to which she was soon to return, before she took up the pen again.
Her window looked eastward.

The dusky glare of lighted London met her as her eyes rested on the sky.

It seemed to beckon her back to the horror of the cruel streets--to point her way mockingly to the bridges over the black river--to lure her to the top of the parapet, and the dreadful leap into God's arms, or into annihilation--who knew which?
She turned, shuddering, from the window.