"Well, gentlemen," rejoined Wood, mildly; "since Mr. You are the woman I love, Anna. ‘Let her go. When I think of those ateliers of ours, the art jargon, the decadents with their flamboyant talk I long for a twoedged sword and a minute of Divinity. ’ Kimble’s widening gaze told its own tale, but still he kept his fingers on the handle of the door. It was a bogus affair altogether, kept by some blackguard or other of an Englishman. Hist!" cried he, as a scream was heard from without. And, mind! no prevaricating—nothing but the truth will satisfy me.
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