" "Egad, Jack," said Gay, "you should write your adventures. The room was worse than pokey, it was shabby; and the view from the window, of chimney pots and slate roofs, wholly uninspiring. ’ ‘Dear me. You cannot—shall not retreat. I shall like to think of it—whenever I feel dull. Something seemed to dredge up from the recesses of her memory and she brightened. . " To-morrow! She never beheld it. Look at the poor victim at your feet. She did not try to approach him. “Well, because I don’t see any reason why I shouldn’t.
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