The business was that of
walking aimlessly about Clerkenwell, in mud and fog. About ten
o'clock he came to Farringdon Road Buildings, and with a glance up
towards the Hewetts' window he was passing by when a hand clutched
at him. Turning, he saw the face of John Hewett, painfully
disturbed, strained in some wild emotion.
'Sidney! Come this way; I want to speak to you.'
'Why, what's wrong?'
'Come over here. Sidney--I've found my girl--I've found Clara!'
CHAPTER XXVII
CLARA'S RETURN
Mrs. Eagles, a middle-aged woman of something more than average
girth, always took her time in ascending to that fifth storey where
she and her husband shared a tenement with the Hewett family. This
afternoon her pause on each landing was longer than usual, for a
yellow fog, which mocked the pale glimmer of gas-jets on the
staircase, made her gasp asthmatically. She carried, too, a heavy
market-bag, having done her Saturday purchasing earlier than of wont
on account of the intolerable weather. She reached the door at
length, and being too much exhausted to search her pocket for the
latchkey, knocked for admission. Amy Hewett opened to her, and she
sank on a chair in the first room, where the other two Hewett
children were bending over 'home-lessons' with a studiousness not
altogether natural.
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