The Wastrel wiped the blood from his forehead. As soon as dinner was over she went into the kitchen and devoted herself to compiling a tray—not a tray merely of halfcooled dinner things, but a specially prepared “nice” tray, suitable for tempting any one. “How did you find me?” He asked. ToC The noise of this disturbance did not fail to reach the interior of the prison. These little squares of coloured paper interested her mightily—hotel labels. She visited the corner that had been her own little garden—her forget-me-nots and candytuft had long since been elbowed into insignificance by weeds; she visited the raspberry-canes that had sheltered that first love affair with the little boy in velvet, and the greenhouse where she had been wont to read her secret letters. This astute personage was somewhat under the middle size, but fairly proportioned, inclining rather to strength than symmetry, and abounding more in muscle than in flesh. Husband of mine, I think we have rather overrated the emotional capacity of those—those dears.
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