Anna stood looking down upon her sister with grave perturbed face. “What do you want to go out here for, Lucy?” He 217 asked. “You know I’m old-fashioned, Miss Stanley. Its dreariness, like the filthiness of the police cell, was a discovery for her. She had decided that she would spend the next morning answering advertisements in the papers that abounded in the writing-room; and so, after half an hour’s perusal of back numbers of the Sketch in the drawingroom, she had gone to bed. Would you mind drawing them back?” Ennison sprang up, but he never reached the curtains.
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