co. ’ Lucilla Froxfield laughed gaily. You poor man, what have you been doing to yourself?” “Nothing except travelling all night,” he answered. "The Chevalier shall hear of this," whispered the woollen-draper. And this shall be your diet till you die. What you said wanted saying. “Perhaps,” he queried, “you wish to avoid being seen about with any one—er— connected with the profession, under present circumstances. . . "Woman, your wits are fled!" And so it seemed; for all the answer she could make was to murmur distractedly, "I can't find the key. She put out her hands to avoid his embrace. Wood in very characteristic attitudes, occupied a prominent place on the walls.
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