"As it's getting late, and the porter may be gone to bed," he observed; "I'll take the pass-key, and let myself in. Stories … love stories: and to-morrow she would know the joy of reading them! It was almost unbelievable; it was too good to be true. Love!” He held her arm and abandoned it again at her quick defensive movement. His cigar burnt out between his fingers, and he threw it impatiently away. " "Take it back yourself," retorted Jack, sullenly. A dreamy sense of content crept over him. 9. “Why don’t you?” “Well, it might mean rather a row. You will not find it else.
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