Lucy followed her. At once there came an answering knock. Sheppard's weight had destroyed the equilibrium of the plank: it swerved, and slowly descended. And in the Avenue she had an encounter with Ramage. 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. ’ ‘What?’ squeaked Kimble. "Open my heart, Father of Mercy!" she murmured, in a humble tone, and with downcast looks, "and make me sensible of the error of my ways. Rain pounded the tin roof, and waterfalls obscured the pavilion into its own private 91 chamber.
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