"I suppose I've got a headache after all that row with Clare," Peter
thought as he climbed off the omnibus.
V
He realised, as he came into the Bloomsbury square, and saw Mrs. Brockett
gloomily waiting for him, that the adventures of his life were most
strangely bound together. Not for an instant did he seem to be able to
escape from any one of them. Now it would be Cornwall, now the Bookshop,
now Stephen, now Mr. Zanti, now Bucket Lane, now Treliss--all of them
interweaving, arresting his action at every moment. Because he had done
that once now this must not be permitted him; he felt, as he rang the old
heavy bell of Brockett's that his head would never think clearly again. As
the door opened and he stepped into the hall he heard, faintly, across the
flat spaces of the Square "Tap-tap-tap-tap-clamp-clamp...."
Even Mrs. Brockett, who might be considered if any one in the world, immune
from morbid imaginations, felt the heaviness of the day, suggested a
prevalence of thunder, and shook her head when Peter asked about Miss
Monogue.
"She's bad, Mr. Peter, very bad, poor dear. There's no doubt about that.
It's hard to see what can be done for her--but plucky! That's a small word
for it!"
"I'm sure she is," said Peter, feeling ashamed of having made so much of
his own little troubles.
"She must get out of London if she's to improve at all.
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