It was just such a bedroom as she would have chosen for herself. Wood," she cried, as the staff fell from his grasp. She lingered over donning her winter coat, buttoning each toggle and placket, double knotting her long scarf. ‘Gerald, this is a nun’s habit. Drawing the pay of life and then not living. " "And, if you want an additional inducement to do so, I can tell you there's no one —not even his mother—whom he loves so well as you. . Have you seen much of her lately?” “Nothing at all,” he answered. Supposing the wire should break and her head tumble off her shoulders into the street? The whimsey caused another smile to ripple across her lips. He must have been following her from room to room, silent in his stockinged feet. All the rest of his existence was subordinate to this pursuit; he lived for it, worked for it, kept himself in training for it.
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