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Wood in the deepest mourning. You can’t do that sort of thing unless you do it over religion, and there’s no religion in me—of that sort—worth a rap. Chapter VI A QUESTION OF IDENTIFICATION The little man with the closely-cropped beard and hair looked at her keenly through his gold eye-glasses. “Number 13, please, cabman. The doctor nodded. ‘May I, indeed? I’ll take you up on that. Perceiving he was about to take leave, Kneebone ventured to ask whom he had had the honour of addressing. They were so nearly alike that the difference would be due to a shaky hand. " "I am calm—quite calm, Rowland," she answered, with lips whose agitation belied her words.
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