“Go to the far corner,” he said, “and sing the last verse of Les Petites. They tried to read illustrated papers in an unconcerned manner and with forced attention, lest they should catch the leaping exultation in each other’s eyes. She would be enduing this chap with attributes he did not possess, clothing him in fictional ruffles. That wrappered life, as you call it—we’ve burned the confounded rags! Danced out of it! We’re stark!” “Stark!” echoed Ann Veronica. She had slapped him away with her free hand and the finger was released suddenly, sending her careening to the floor. Gosse twisted his body to avoid another thrust, and the heavy candlesticks fell, rolling with a noise like thunder, and falling with a thud to the floor.
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