‘You imbecile. “Excellent fellow!” he answered a little irrelevantly. . She pointed suddenly at the portrait. Anna, I listened to all that he had to say, and I called to him to let me get out. ’ ‘You are not on my side at all, and it will be better that, instead of saying such things to him, you would say them to yourself. They seem to spend their time yawning and inspecting their neighbour’s dresses through those hateful glasses. ‘Bête,’ she flung at him. The poet's appearance altogether was highly prepossessing. Over the mantel, set into an ornately carved panel with fluted columns at each end, was a portrait of a man on horseback. In her little sitting-room she turned on the electric light and looked around half fearfully. Swiftly following the sound of knocking, she crossed right and passed through a door near the windows—and found herself in the bookroom. I miss them so. "Much that I would willingly forget.
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