She found herself mildly entertained by staring at the houses through the rain as she walked home, all cast in a gray blurry film noir gauze of rain. “I am glad,” she told herself, “I came. They were all stout ill-favoured men, attired in the regular jail-livery of scratch wig and snuff-coloured suit; and had all a strong family likeness to each other. ‘Parbleu, but I find that this is excessively clever, this passage. In Paddington. Now do not make me any more arguments, but tell me at once where that pig is gone. "Let the gentleman take his own course," said Jonathan, mildly. There is the election——” He laughed derisively. Sordid; but that was not Ruth's term for it; she had no precise commentary to offer.
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