O! if she had been brave enough for it, death would have been better.

The servants slept at the back of the house; it was impossible to make them hear, so that they might let her in again quietly, without her husband's knowledge.

And she would not have tried.

He had thrust her out, and it should be for ever.
There would have been dead silence in Orchard Street but for the whistling of the wind and the swirling of the March dust on the pavement.
Thick clouds covered the sky; every door was closed; every window was dark.

No ray of light fell on the tall white figure that stood in lonely misery on the doorstep; no eye rested on Janet as she sank down on the cold stone, and looked into the dismal night.