" On quitting the Lodge, Wild repaired to his own habitation. 1. “Stop,” he said. You have been going out every morning, and coming home late—tired out—too tired to come down to dinner. Fresh flowers of loveliness have budded, expanded, died. " "But, Mr. We dine at seven-thirty. Anything in the least irregular is like poison to him. So the talk went on. He sat on the bed, throwing aside his hat. His hand went with an almost instinctive inquiry to his jawbone again. The roof was partially untiled; the chimneys were tottering; the side-walls bulged, and were supported by a piece of timber propped against the opposite house; the glass in most of the windows was broken, and its place supplied with paper; while, in some cases, the very frames of the windows had been destroyed, and the apertures were left free to the airs of heaven. Wood fancied he recognised. ” There was a moment’s silence.
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