” “I am rebuked,” she declared. ” Anna was not late, but her heart sank within her when she entered the drawingroom. It was a large, littered, self-forgetful apartment, decorated with unframed charcoal sketches by various incipient masters; and an open bookcase, surmounted by plaster casts and the half of a human skull, displayed an odd miscellany of books—Shaw and Swinburne, Tom Jones, Fabian Essays, Pope and Dumas, cheek by jowl. She was perplexed by this, and stood for some seconds in the empty street hesitating, until the appearance of another circumspect woman under the street lamp at the corner reassured her. Her little white hand stole across the table. "Read that," rejoined Austin, pointing to the placard. . It was not human and yet very human, a high pitched wail of hunger that rattled her skull.
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