By and by—as the paroxysm subsided and he became motionless—she stole back to the bungalow to wait. Running to Gosse, she seized the portrait from his hand and lashed out, taking him off guard, so that he staggered back and fell against the card table. He was an outside broker and the proprietor of a financial newspaper; he had come up very rapidly in the last few years, and Mr. Her mother brewed potions to scent her hair, sweet balms of anise for her lips and hands, told her wonderful secrets, some decidedly un-Christian. "Flight is still left me," replied Trenchard.
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