At night she would turn it in her fingers like a rosary bead. Here was a poor half-naked creature, with a straw crown on his head, and a wooden sceptre in his hand, seated on the ground with all the dignity of a monarch on his throne. The shops were lighting up into gigantic lanterns of color, the street lamps were glowing into existence, and she had lost her way. “It is hard to express one’s self, but I do want to be honest with you. White said. Annabel seated herself in an easy chair and determined to wait for her sister’s return. “May I enquire,” he asked smoothly, “in what way my appearance contributes to your amusement? If there is a joke I should like to share it. The spirit I drink may be poison,—it may kill me,—perhaps it is killing me:—but so would hunger, cold, misery,—so would my own thoughts.
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