"It is droll," he said. Books! Aren't they wonderful?" The blind alley of life stretching out before her, with its secret doorways and hidden menaces; and she was unconcerned. The flowers upon the mantel-shelf were withered and drooping—she had gathered them. “I wonder,” she said, “how much you care. ‘But there is something still I do not understand. No mercenary consideration influences me. “Fearful old fogey! I can’t imagine any sister of yours putting up with him for a moment. She slipped down the perfunctory flight of stairs, short because of the home’s split-level style. Old Bedlam 291 IX.
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