Nigel Ennison, Annabel. The boy was right. Stopping before each door, they took up the plates of the locks, examined the ponderous bolts, and were struck with the utmost astonishment at what they beheld. But this revulsion was engulfed by the succeeding waves of pity and understanding. The walls of the room were lined with shelves, on which were glass jars, retorts, countless bottles and many appliances of surgical science. For a time she looked at no more apartments, and walked through gaunt and ill-cleaned streets, through the sordid under side of life, perplexed and troubled, ashamed of her previous obtuseness.
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