He opened the drawer of the writing table. Watching her strip had been delicious for him, and a part of him enjoyed her self-consciousness acutely. I tell you I’m Meysey Hill, the railway man. I’ve a dread of love dropping its petals, becoming mean and ugly. “I meant to say good-bye to you to-night. Yet in some hidden corner was a vein of sentiment, of which for the first time in his later life he was now unexpectedly aware. Youth! You denied me even that," said Ruth, her glance now flashing to her father. " "Gem'men o' the votch!" cried Sharples, as loudly as a wheezy cough would permit him, "my noble pris'ner—ough! ough;—the Markis o' Slaughterford ——" Further speech was cut short by a volley of execrations from the angry guardians of the night. They smelled good, but they no longer smelled like food. He had informed her that to leave him would be a choice to live a life of meager subsistence. ‘Very wise,’ commented Gerald. He watched her, savoring her curious attention.
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