Mauled about!” She fell to rubbing her insulted lips savagely with the back of her hand. " "Not now—not now!" she returned, with a shudder. Wood, at the top of her voice. Jack was not half your age when he died. For although I must confess it reads very much like an application or a testimonial or some such thing as that, I can assure you I am writing this in fear and trembling with a sinking heart. ‘Good God! Everett Charvill, as I live. Set yourself to find it out, if you will—but if you do, never dare to call yourself my friend again. This is altogether insupportable. "These writer chaps are queer birds.
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