He was pretty successful in Manchester,—a town which may be said to have been the head-quarters of the disaffected. "Oh, God! that I might die too," cried Jack, falling on his knees beside her. Why had he offered her that kiss on board The Tigress? Perhaps that had been his hour of disenchantment. He came in with his hands in his trousers pockets and a general air of depression in his bearing. So he sharpened a score of pencils, and after fiddling about and rewriting the last page he had written the previous night, he plunged into work. Brendon felt his arm seized.
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