” “You are going to speak to me of things which happened before we met in London?” she asked quietly. These thoughts, however, came to a broken end. “We are the music and you are the instrument,” she said; “we are verse and you are prose. My son went down after his death. " "I don't wonder at it," rejoined Gay. " "That's easily said. “I am sure,” she said, “that you mean to stay until you are turned out. He knew very well that his muscles were flabby, and his nerve by no means what it should be. ‘Me, I am tout à fait stupide. Superstition—you knock into it whichever way you turn. It was, in fact, a group of interests quite unlike any other group, peculiar and special, and one to be thoroughly ashamed of.
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