” “What’s our lot?” asked her sister. ’ She turned and swept away from him, pacing the length of the room to the window Gerald had unshuttered. D'ye hear. People shrug their shoulders and call me a crazy socialist. The sky was dripping a wet, slow rain that had forced the city’s inhabitants into taxicabs and dingy cafeterias, the day wholly ruined for all except the insane schizophrenics and her. The boat's sure to run foul o' the bridge; and if she 'scapes stavin' above, she'll be swamped to a sartainty below.
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