He little heeded the passers in the streets, those who hurried
or those who loitered, only, if he met or passed a woman or a group of
girls, he instinctively drew himself away and walked more rapidly. He
strode on uncompromisingly, and his clean-shaved face was set in rigid
lines. Those who saw him pass would have said that there went an ascetic
bent on judgment. Many who did know him, and who ordinarily would have
saluted him, sure of a friendly greeting, were repelled by his stern face
and determined air, and made no sign. The father had something on his
mind.
As he turned into Rivington Street there approached him from the opposite
direction a girl, walking slowly and undecidedly. When he came near her
she looked up, with an appealing recognition. In a flash of the quick
passing he thought he knew her--a girl who had attended his mission and
whom he had not seen for several months-but he made no sign and passed
on.
"Father Damon!"
He turned about short at the sound of the weak, pleading voice, but with
no relaxation of his severe, introverted mood. "Well?"
It was the girl he remembered. She wore a dress of silk that had once
been fine, and over it an ample cloak that had quite lost its freshness,
and a hat still gay with cheap flowers.
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