Chapter XXII AN OLD FOOL Lady Ferringhall made room for him on the sofa by her side. He sat down beside her and stroked her hair. She pawed at him, her hunger for his body making her dizzy with anticipation. “Idiotic, isn’t it?” “Absolutely,” she agreed coldly. Bulging out more in the middle than at the two extremities, it resembled an enormous cask set on its end, —a sort of Heidelberg tun on a large scale,—and this resemblance was increased by the small circular aperture—it hardly deserved to be called a door—pierced, like the bung-hole of a barrell, through the side of the structure, at some distance from the ground, and approached by a flight of wooden steps. “Miss Pellissier,” he said, “I am going to take a liberty. The spirit of disaffection was busy throughout the kingdom. . It was as if her aesthetic sense had become inflamed. ] CHAPTER VIII Slowly Ruth entered her own room. With a little more meat on him, he would be handsome.
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