't, you know; she's not been
brought up to that sort of thing ... not even typewriting ... and so ...
we're all ruined ... everyone of us. And I've more than fifty hands,
counting Mr. Lea, and they'll all have to go. It's horrible.... I
trusted you, Granger, you know; I trusted you, and they say up there
that you...." I turned away from him. I couldn't bear to see the
bewildered fear in his eyes. "So many of us," he began again, "everyone
I know.... I told them to buy and ... But you might have let us know,
Granger, you might have. Think of my poor daughter."

I wanted to say something to the man, wanted to horribly; but there
wasn't anything to say--not a word. I was sorry. I took up a paper that
sprawled on one of the purple ottomans. I stood with my back to this
haggard man and pretended to read.

I noticed incredulously that I was swaying on my legs. I looked round
me. Two old men were asleep in armchairs under the gloomy windows. One
had his head thrown back, the other was crumpled forward into himself;
his frail, white hand just touched the floor. A little further off two
young men were talking; they had the air of conspirators over their
empty coffee cups.

I was conscious that Polehampton had left me, that he had gone from
behind me; but I don't think I was conscious of the passage of time. God
knows how long I stood there. Now and then I saw Polehampton's face
before my eyes, with the panic-stricken eyes, the ruffled hair, the
lines of tears seaming the cheeks, seeming to look out at me from the
crumple of the paper that I held. I knew too, that there were faces like
that everywhere; everywhere, faces of panic-stricken little people of no
more account than the dead in graveyards, just the material to make
graveyards, nothing more; little people of absolutely no use but just to
suffer horribly from this blow coming upon them from nowhere. It had
never occurred to me at the time that their inheritance had passed to me
... to us. And yet, I began to wonder stupidly, what was the difference
between me to-day and me yesterday. There wasn't any, not any at all.
Only to-day I had nothing more to do.

The doors at the end of the room flew open, as if burst by a great
outcry penetrating from without, and a man appeared running up the
room--one of those men who bear news eternally, who catch the distant
clamour and carry it into quiet streets. Why did he disturb me? Did I
want to hear his news? I wanted to think of C