Tol-de-rol!" As Jack concluded his ditty, the door flew open with a crash, and Thames sprang through the aperture. ‘What in God’s name do you think you’re playing at?’ ‘Let me alone, man,’ Gerald muttered under his breath. And he unsheathed his sword. “You will go and see her,” he begged. One’s sense of proportion, battered out of all shape in the daily life of cities, reasserts itself. Thames unfolded the drawing, smoothed out its creases, and beheld a portrait of himself. Either Sydney or Mr. ” “No,” she moaned, “not that.
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