The sound
of smothered sobbing was in his ears again. He could not get rid of it.
He put on his fur coat, and went out into the fog; having to go into the
City, he took the underground railway from Sloane Square station.
In his corner of the first-class compartment filled with City men the
smothered sobbing still haunted him, so he opened the Times with the
rich crackle that drowns all lesser sounds, and, barricaded behind it,
set himself steadily to con the news.
He read that a Recorder had charged a grand jury on the previous
day with a more than usually long list of offences. He read of three
murders, five manslaughters, seven arsons, and as many as eleven
rapes--a surprisingly high number--in addition to many less conspicuous
crimes, to be tried during a coming Sessions; and from one piece of news
he went on to another, keeping the paper well before his face.
And still, inseparable from his reading, was the memory of Irene's
tear-stained face, and the sounds from her broken heart.
The day was a busy one, including, in addition to the ordinary affairs
of his practice, a visit to his brokers, Messrs. Grin and Grinning, to
give them instructions to sell his shares in the New Colliery Co., Ltd.
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