“Anna!” she repeated. She surveyed accommodation that seemed at first merely austere, and became more and more manifestly inadequate as the moments fled by. Once more he was the searcher. At the corner of Liquorpond Street stood the old Hampstead coach-office; and, on the night in question, a knot of hostlers, waggoners, drivers, and stable-boys was collected in the yard. “Love should be enough, John, but it never is. To the poor carpenter it seemed an endless distance. . She rested for a half hour in heaven on earth, feeling herself drift in and out of sleep. This Joan would hold them for a little.
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