From the towering wall of volumes seemed to emanate visible motes, intensifying the obscurity; in a moment the book-lined circumference of the room would be but a featureless prison-limit.
But then flashed forth the sputtering whiteness of the electric light, and its ceaseless hum was henceforth a new source of headache.

It reminded her how little work she had done to-day; she must, she must force herself to think of the task in hand.

A machine has no business to refuse its duty.

But the pages were blue and green and yellow before her eyes; the uncertainty of the light was intolerable.

Right or wrong she would go home, and hide herself, and let her heart unburden itself of tears.
On her way to return books she encountered Jasper Milvain.