He was a civil servant of some standing, and after a previous conversation upon aesthetics of a sententious, nebulous, and sympathetic character, he had sent her a small volume, which he described as the fruits of his leisure and which was as a matter of fact rather carefully finished verse. I know not who you are; and, as I cannot discern your face, I may be doing you an injustice. “There was a man called Montague Hill,” she said hoarsely, “but he is dead. " "That's well. As sure as he is now living, I'll pay him a visit in the Old Bailey before morning. There must be persons tender and loving in this world. ” “It is my wish to be alone,” she said wearily.
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