Well, here we are, and if you cast your eye over the room you will see that Tubes and trams and omnibuses, private carriages not a few, even, I venture to believe, landaus with bays in them, have been busy at it, weaving threads from one end of London to the other. Yet I begin to have my doubts – (less)

Such an expression of unhappiness was enough by itself to make one's eyes slide above the paper's edge to the poor woman's face – insignificant without that look, almost a symbol of human destiny with it. Life's what you see in people's eyes; life's what they learn, and, having learnt it, never, though they seek to hide it, cease to be aware of – what? That life's like that, it seems. Five faces opposite – five mature faces – and the knowledge in each face. (less)

A still August night. A mist is rising slowly from the fields and casting an opaque veil over everything within eyesight. Lighted up by the moon, the mist gives the impression at one moment of a calm, boundless sea, at the next of an immense white wall. The air is damp and chilly. Morning is still far off. A step from the bye-road which runs along the edge of the forest a little fire is gleaming. A dead body, covered from head to foot with new white linen, is lying under a young oak-tree. (less)

A little pause. She turned to him and smiled. "Noble Antonio!" laughed she. "Snow, Robert! Snow. "More tea, Robert? Robert dear, more tea?" Tea - coffee, Antonio!" Mrs. Salesby turned. "Robert! Robert!" "Robert, shall we go for our little turn?" "Oh, lovely, Robert! "Caw! Caw! Salesby stood in the cage, sucking in his cheeks, staring at the ceiling and turning the ring, turning the signet ring on his little finger ... "Robert, you're not eating again. "Caw! "Good night, Robert." "Where is the little beggar? Give me your hand." She turns his signet ring. (less)

"Beg parding, sir?" said old Ma Parker huskily. Poor old bird! Ma Parker gave no answer. "Gran! Gran!" A hard life! Shakespeare, sir? "A baker, Mrs. Parker!" the literary gentleman would say. Mrs. Parker didn't look so sure. Mrs. Parker didn't look convinced. Nothing made little Lennie put it on. "Oh, Mrs. Parker, I'm going out." "No, sir." "It's not your poor old gran's doing it, my lovey," said old Ma Parker, patting back the damp hair from his little scarlet ears. Never by a living soul. "What have I done?" said old Ma Parker. Gran wants to cry. (less)