She was aware of it now as if it were a voice shouting outside a house, shouting passionate verities in a hot sunlight, a voice that cries while people talk insincerely in a darkened room and pretend not to hear. They did not care— servant or master, it meant nothing. ” “Why did you keep her all of these years? What good can it do?” “She created me, Lucia. Our quarrel's quite over. Wood," added she in a hollow voice, and with a ghastly look, "gin may bring ruin; but as long as poverty, vice, and ill-usage exist, it will be drunk.
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