“Stuffy these trees make the Avenue,” said Mr. ” She rang the bell, and he waited by her side until she was admitted to the tall, gloomy lodging-house. Bribble’s rendering of the service —he had the sort of voice that brings out things—and was still teeming with ideas about it when finally a wild outburst from the organ made it clear that, whatever snivelling there might be down in the chancel, that excellent wind instrument was, in its Mendelssohnian way, as glad as ever it could be. The gale had become a hurricane: that hurricane was the most terrible that ever laid waste our city. “Mr. And yet—I love you.
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