. She enjoyed preparing the evening meals, the smells of potatoes roasting in the oven, the stink of onions in the pan, the crackle of chicken frying. Gay, by his strokes of pleasantry, whether in his writings or conversation, never lost a friend. They were followed by Mr. “Oh God!” she cried, “Oh God!” and flung aside her opera-cloak, and for a time walked about the room—a Corsair’s bride at a crisis of emotion. The shops were lighting up into gigantic lanterns of color, the street lamps were glowing into existence, and she had lost her way. E.
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