"You are a paragon of prudence and discretion," rejoined the woollen-draper, drawing his chair closer to hers. Fresh ground, no chicory, and all the rest of it. I was—I was a corespondent. " "Don't scold him, father," interposed Thames; "he's been frightened enough already. . ” “Any place would be beautiful,” said Ann Veronica, in a low voice. The room was worse than pokey, it was shabby; and the view from the window, of chimney pots and slate roofs, wholly uninspiring. The beach: to get there as quickly as he could, to reach the white man's nadir of abasement and gather the promise of that soothing indifference which comes with the final disintegration of the fibres of conscience. I don't believe his name is Taber.
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