“I want to ask you a question,” he said. ” “You are not yourself to-night, Courtlaw,” Ennison said. She tried surreptitiously to reach her own dagger, in its cunning hiding place in her petticoat. Every one of those four stories would be accepted. At any rate, here I am, and here I shall be, twenty thousand feet above all your poison-reeking cities, up where God’s wind comes fresh from heaven, very near indeed to the untrodden snows. “I believe you are quite right so far as regards the present, at any rate,” someone remarked, from the depths of an easy chair.
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