"How go you like your quarters, sauce-box?" asked Sharples, in a jeering tone. I don’t conceal it. "I shall do no such thing. CHAPTER III. Presently he began to weave a tale, sorry enough, with all the ancient claptraps and rusted platitudes. Was this the result of some strange experiment? It was the person of Annabel Pellissier—the soul of a very different order of being. Playing became a way of escape. Together they made their painful way to the door, not even checking, in the effort this cost both, on what Gosse might be doing.
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