Apparently literature raised no desires
in the criminal breast. To close the shop there was nothing
to do but lock and bolt the door and turn out the lights.
At last, as the conviction of nightfall forced itself
upon her from the drenched darkness outside, she bent
to put her hand to the key. Then, with a little start
of surprise, she stood erect. Someone was shutting
an umbrella in the doorway, preparatory to entering the shop.
It was her brother, splashed and wet to the knees, but with
a glowing face, who pushed his way in, and confronted
her with a broad grin. There was such a masterful air
about him, that when he jovially threw an arm round her
gaunt waist, and gathered her up against his moist shoulder,
she surprised herself by a half-laughing submission.
Her vocabulary was not rich in phrases for this kind
of emergency. "Do mind what you're about!" she told him,
flushing not unpleasurably.
"Shut up the place!" he answered, with lordly geniality.
"I've walked all the way from the City in the rain.
I wanted the exertion--I couldn't have sat in a cab.
Come back and build up the fire, and let's have a talk.
God! What things I've got to tell you!"
"There isn't any fire down here," she said, apologetically,
as they edged their way through the restricted alley
to the rear.
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