wed by the usual debauch, which lasts until all the drunken crowd are asleep on the floor of the "Lion." No Russian novelist, nor a Dostoievesky,

ong hours of

' breath and

night and

tank like

d smell, and

un the gang

rcy and the Widow

ill enough decency left to be ashamed. He want

window wid

t pigsty o

cool wind g

sleeping m

ck three, and

himed, Holy

cond's paus

te of the c

ock crew fla

ade me think

rcy and the Widow

ght of another man who had virtually betrayed the Christ

rrific description of that battle Masefield gives us, lightninglike in its vividness until there comes the little woman of God, Miss Bourne (a deaconess, if you please), who ha

he said, 'when

gentlene

drop of dri

within you

y dirty w

e flint up

horn abou

ck by wher

ail anoth

are is that C

rcy and the Widow

rt. They cut. They awakened. They called. They pierced. They pounded with giant fists. They lashed like spiked whips.