“Life’s so queer,” she said, kneeling and looking into the flames. " Which was literally the truth. " "But I've got to go!" insisted Rollo, in perfectly understandable dog-talk. It now came to him with an added thrill how well she had told her story; simply and directly, no skipping, no wandering hither and yon: from the first hour she could remember, to the night she had fled in the proa, a clear sustained narrative. She waited for him to leave the room, and turned back to Gerald. On a sudden, a change came over her countenance, which, up to this moment, had worn a smiling and satisfied expression. You don't want me to spoil the story, do you?" "No.
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