"Heed her not. The chair had extension arms over which a man might comfortably dangle his legs. Rituals instead of medicines. You would rather live like the scum of the earth, in that little brown hovel you call a house, in bourgeois paradise. Wood, in deploring his wild career, adverted to the melancholy condition to which it had reduced his mother. She seemed bursting with the desire to talk, and watching for her opportunity. Then came the javelin-men, walking four abreast, and lastly, a long line of constables, marching in the same order. Everything seemed designed to unhinge the mind and make the cat wretched. Abruptly she got out of bed, smoothed her sheet and straightened her pillow and lay down, and fell almost instantly asleep.
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