White leaned forward in her chair with an anxious smile designed to throw oil upon the troubled waters. “It is very good of you to come and see me, my dear sister,” Annabel remarked, throwing herself into a low chair, and clasping her hands over her head. But we waste time. He was not addicted to monologue, and the only audible comment he permitted himself at first upon a universe that was evidently anything but satisfactory to him that afternoon, was one compact and entirely unassigned “Damn!” The word must have had some gratifying quality, because he repeated it. “It’s all dirt that washes off, dear, but it’s dirt.
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