“Don’t you have a wife? Where are your children?” She asked. She discovered him sitting upon the floor beside his open trunk. But I do not know you at all, in truth, and I do not understand why you do this. She was aware of him—a silk-hatted, shiny-black figure on the opposite side of the Avenue; and then, abruptly and startlingly, he crossed the road and saluted and spoke to her. Oh dear!—how sorry I am I ever left Wych Street. Not us. He thought rationally; that is to say, he thought clearly, as a child thinks clearly.
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