Old and dilapidated, the widow's domicile looked the very picture of desolation and misery. A small brickbat was thrown, which struck Jonathan in the face. There was no one at all in this room, but through the half-open door of one of the small apartments that gave upon it she had a glimpse of two very young girls sitting at a littered table and writing briskly. He then scaled the northern tower, and made his way to the summit of that part of the prison which fronted Giltspur Street. Slowly and ruefully she realized why marriage was so idealized among her generations of those before her. Gerald smiled and crooked his elbow.
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