A dark mass of wreckage, over which hung a slight mist of vapour, lay half in the ditch, half across the hedge, close under a tree from the trunk of which the bark had been torn and stripped. " "As like as life, Sir," observed Austin, peeping over Thornhill's shoulder at the portrait. Unless there was some real metal in the young fool, some hidden strength with which to breast the current, Ruth would become a millstone around his neck and soon he would become to her an object of pity and contempt. "It's like enough, I dare say," rejoined Sheppard. In the distance a barrel-organ was grinding out a pot pourri of popular airs.
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