" "Well, that's fine. A grimy, battered object, which had no place in the fashionable quarter of town. More strange stories were told of it than of any other house in London. " "It may be; but if it shortens the distance and lightens the journey, I care not," retorted the widow, who seemed by this reproach to be roused into sudden eloquence. And he hazarded a wink at the poet over the paper on which he was sketching. ‘Well she does,’ insisted Miss Froxfield impenitently, and turned to Gerald. "Your tone suggests something marvellous in the fact," replied Ah Cum, ironically. She could almost smell her mother’s attar of white roses and lemon verbena with the memory of the story.
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