To her mind, recalling the picture of him the night before, there had been something tragic in the grim silent manner of his tippling. “We have no airs and graces here, and my hat hangs from a peg in the passage. The close-fitting round gown, if a little oldfashioned with its very narrow waist and wide skirts, was becoming on a full figure, and the low décolletage, unencumbered by any form of covering, exposed a good deal of bosom. I was just like a sort of dummy that does things as it is told—that is to say, as the strings are pulled.
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