It was a clear, lovely, October morning. “I wonder,” he said, “is there anything we could do to help you to get rid of him?” “Can you think of anything?” Anna answered. He ushered them with an amiable flat hand into a minute apartment with a little gas-stove, a silk crimson-covered sofa, and a bright little table, gay with napery and hot-house flowers. "If you thought that, why did you give me this job?"—his voice faint and thick. It is that you cannot refuse her sanctuary. We had better have it over. ‘You mean I should give myself a dressingdown? Very well.
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