It was nearly the last train

“Oh, how awfully interesting. It’s quite a long time since I’ve been a personification.— I suppose you’ve never been one before?” said Clariss, turning to Aaron in conclusion. “No, I don’t think I have,” he answered. “I hope personification is right.— Ought to be allegory or something else?” This from Clariss to Robert. “Or a parable, Clariss,” laughed the young lieutenant. “Goodbye,” said Tanny. “I’ve been awfully bored.” “Have you?” grinned Jim. “Goodbye! Better luck next time.” We’d better look sharp,” said Robert, “if we want to get the tube.” The party hurried through the rainy narrow streets down to the Embankment station. Robert and Julia and Clariss were going west, Lilly and his wife were going to Hampstead, Josephine and Aaron Sisson were going both to Bloomsbury. “I suppose,” said Robert, on the stairs —“Mr. Sisson will see you to your door, Josephine. He lives your way.” “There’s no need at all,” said Josephine. The four who were going north went down to the low tube level. It was nearly the last train. The station was half deserted, half rowdy, several fellows were drunk, shouting and crowing. Down there in the bowels of London, after midnight, everything seemed horrible and unnatural. “How I hate this London,” said Tanny. She was half Norwegian, and had spent a large part of her life in Norway, before she married Lilly. “Yes, so do I,” said Josephine. “But if one must earn one’s living one must stay here. I wish I could get back to Paris. But there’s nothing doing for me in France.— When do you go back into the country, both of you?” “Friday,” said Lilly.