night passed on and day, in its turn, went by and dr shy was still amissing. time dragged on and today became yesterday and mr pride never left his vigil at the window.
from across the street mrs pink could see his dark silhouette and, as the days progressed, she noted with a certain amount of dismay that the once proud and broad figure of mr pride had dwindled into a crumpled, beaten old bent shade.
therefore, after ten days had gone past with nothing much happening at all, she decided to take matters in her own hands–

up the stairs she goes and knocking on the first floor door she tries the handle when no answer comes. she finds the door unlocked and, as it swings slowly on its hinges, motes of dust swirl up to choke her eyes and mouth and nose, but the broken shape of mr pride does not stir at all.
“mr pride” she says “i was thinking, what with you here up all on your own and what not…”
“well,…”

“maybe you would like to come and join her ladyship and myself for tea today?”

“so…” quoth mr pride, but nothing more.

when teatime came lady tart and mrs pink were waiting in silence in mrs pink’s little parlour when a sudden a knock came, gently knocking at the chamber door. mr pride had come down for tea, his clothes looked ashen grey, his face was palid, his hair lank and a wild gruff beard had positioned itself on his cheeks and chin, dust swept in with him.
they sat him down in a comfortable chair and drank their tea in silence. his dulled empty eyes looked blankly at the ground. his tea remained untouched.

and the damsels looked in anguish on their distressed companion, tears seemed to have smeared his grubby face.