There was no reason why she shouldn’t be his restrained and dignified friend. I can’t. She was finally dead, going to Hell. A wide terrace then led to large iron gates,' over which were placed the two celebrated figures of Raving and Melancholy Madness, executed by the elder Cibber, and commemorated by Pope in the Dunciad, in the wellknown lines:— "Close to those walls where Folly holds her throne, And laughs to think Monroe would take her down, Where, o'er the gates, by his famed father's hand, Great Cibber's brazen, brainless brothers stand. She was always the last person to exit after the crowds had stampeded, trailing slowly behind them like dust. She felt flattered. We'll turn the tables upon 'em yet. ‘No one is here, Melusine, except you and I. He had finally put aside The Lilac Sunbonnet, gone into his study, lit the gas fire, and written the letter that had brought these unsatisfactory relations to a head. At length, he fell down on the road, fully expecting each moment would prove his last. She could hear the raucous laughter and bad music below. The address was of course her destination, thousands of miles away, an infinitesimal spot in a terrifying space. 13 Montague Street.
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