But Jonathan, fixing a terrible look upon him, cried. And they’ll shut the gates presently. I’ve made up my mind. If you don’t eat humble-pie now you may live to fare worse later. Open it. He remembered that he had heard stories about the wonderful likeness between these two sisters, one of whom was an artist and a recluse, whilst the other had attached herself to a very gay and a very brilliant little coterie of pleasure-seekers. Occasionally the mere fact of lying in bed became unendurable, and she rolled out and marched about her room and whispered abuse of herself—usually until she hit against some article of furniture.
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