To be a quicksand swallowing up one's own
resolutions was bad enough! But to be like Keith--all willpower,
marching along, treading down his own feelings and weaknesses! No! One
could not make a comrade of a man like Keith, even if he were one's
brother? The only creature in all the world was the girl. She alone
knew and felt what he was feeling; would put up with him and love him
whatever he did, or was done to him. He stopped and took shelter in a
doorway, to light a cigarette. He had suddenly a fearful wish to pass the
archway where he had placed the body; a fearful wish that had no sense,
no end in view, no anything; just an insensate craving to see the dark
place again. He crossed Borrow Street to the little lane. There was
only one person visible, a man on the far side with his shoulders hunched
against the wind; a short, dark figure which crossed and came towards him
in the flickering lamplight. What a face! Yellow, ravaged, clothed
almost to the eyes in a stubbly greyish growth of beard, with blackish
teeth, and haunting bloodshot eyes. And what a figure of rags--one
shoulder higher than the other, one leg a little lame, and thin! A surge
of feeling came up in Laurence for this creature, more unfortunate than
himself. There were lower depths than his!

"Well, brother," he said, "you don't look too prosperous!"

The smile which gleamed out on the man's face seemed as unlikely as a
smile on a scarecrow.

"Prosperity doesn't come my way," he said in a rusty voice. "I'm a
failure--always been a failure. And yet you wouldn't think it, would
you?--I was a minister of religion once."

Laurence held out a shilling. But the man shook his head.

"Keep your money," he said. "I've got more than you to-day, I daresay.
But thank you for taking a little interest. That's worth more than money
to a man that's down."

"You're right."

"Yes," the rusty voice went on; "I'd as soon die as go on living as I do.
And now I've lost my self-respect. Often wondered how long a starving
man could go without losing his self-respect. Not so very long. You
take my word for that." And without the slightest change in the monotony
of that creaking voice he added:

"Did you read of the murder? Just here. I've been looking at the
place."

The words: 'So have I!' leaped up to Laurence's lips; he choked them down
with a sort of terror.

"I wish you better luck," he said. "Goodnight!" and hurried away. A
sort of