One is always familiar with the business of one’s neighbours. . Manning came into her thoughts again, an unexpected, tall, dark, self-contained presence at the Fadden. ‘I dropped the lantern,’ Jack’s muffled voice told her. . Bit priggish, isn’t it? And if he only knew it—so absurd. Upon a table, where they had been hastily deposited, on the intelligence of Darrell's accident, lay a pair of pink kid gloves, bordered with lace, and an enormous fan; the latter, when opened, represented the metamorphosis and death of Actæon.
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