| Title | The Ragged Trousered Philanthropists |
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| Page | 211 |
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| Chapter | -- |
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| Text |
for the kitten out of my penny.' After the child was in bed, Owen sat alone by the table in the draughty sitting-room, thinking. Although there was a bright fire, the room was very cold, being so close to the roof. The wind roared loudly round the gables, shaking the house in a way that threatened every moment to hurl it to the ground. The lamp on the table had a green glass reservoir which was half full of oil. Owen watched this with unconscious fascination. Every time a gust of wind struck the house the oil in the lamp was agitated and rippled against the glass like the waves of a miniature sea. Staring abstractedly at the lamp, he thought of the future. A few years ago the future had seemed a region of wonderful and mysterious possibilities of good, but tonight the thought brought no such |
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