" "Wood!" exclaimed Trenchard,—"of Wych Street?" "The same. ” She stirred gently in her chair. Why should she trouble herself over that young fool, who was nothing to her; who, when he eventually sobered up, would not be able to recognize her, or if he did, as something phantasmagorical? Perhaps he should not apply the term "fool"; "unfortunate" might be the more accurate application. His legs were fine and strong, he told her that he had been a warrior in ancient times, to which she snorted in disgust. “He’s got good taste, you know. She shut her lips hard, her jaw hardened, and she set herself to struggle with him. [Illustration: Distinctive Pictures Corporation.
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