"'The Man Who Could Not Go Home. Wood, who had been absent on business during the greater part of the day, returned (perhaps not altogether undesignedly) at an earlier hour than was expected, to his dwelling in Wych Street, Drury Lane; and was about to enter his workshop, when, not hearing any sound of labour issue from within, he began to suspect that an apprentice, of whose habits of industry he entertained some doubt, was neglecting his employment. Get on, do. We can’t afford to turn our women, our Madonnas, our Saint Catherines, our Mona Lisas, our goddesses and angels and fairy princesses, into a sort of man. . His energy began to slip away and she sank her teeth into his fat carotid artery below the piano wire, which had drawn blood from his neck. She staggered to the fireplace and thrust it into the heart of the dying flames. And then I'll pay off old scores.
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