“I suppose,” said her father, “I have read at least half the novels that have been at all successful during the last twenty years. What better way to be rid of him? ‘Jacques,’ she uttered urgently. Assured, if he remained much longer where he was, he would inevitably perish, Wood recommended himself to the protection of Heaven, and began his perilous course. “I don’t see what he has to do with my coming to London?” “He—he worships the ground you tread on. I don’t want you to talk to me now. Anna rummaged about in her dressingcase, and finally drew out a letter. “There wasn’t.
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