” She finished her breakfast and strolled out across the garden with the letters still in her hand. It must be the dawn creeping in. Sc. \" He said. You don’t deserve it, but he does. One thing—he could be thankful for that—the peak of his misfortunes had been reached; the world might come to an end now and not matter in the least. She has been a dear. A few bricks, dislodged probably by his last descent, came clattering down the chimney, and as it was perfectly dark, gave him the notion that some one was endeavouring to force an entrance into the room. No blowzy barmaids for him to-day: an American bar-keep to whom he could tell his troubles and receive the proper meed of sympathy. Roused by the bell tolling for evening service, Jack left the house. His head bent down, intent on kissing her underneath the showerhead.
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