There was, it might be said, a double illumination. ” Sydney looked at her doubtfully. She had called the police on them anonymously. The cage at Willesden was, and is—for it is still standing—a small round building about eight feet high, with a pointed tiled roof, to which a number of boards, inscribed with the names of the parish officers, and charged with a multitude of admonitory notices to vagrants and other disorderly persons, are attached. There was a gulf of eight years between her and the youngest of her brace of sisters—an impassable gulf inhabited chaotically by two noisy brothers. "There, Sir," she added, unlocking the door, "you can go in. " "I'll not go," answered the other. That's one of the troubles with young folks: they take themselves so seriously. Every home is a little recess, a niche, out of the world of business and competition, in which women and the future shelter.
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