"Ay, ay," rejoined Sheppard; "he may do what he pleases,—hang me, if he thinks proper,—if you wish it. “Where to?” he asked, as the hansom drove up. ‘I doubt it. "Oh, nothing—nothing," returned Mrs. “For no other reason than you talk too much. ’ ‘Poor little devil,’ said Gerald, genuinely sorry for her. Still, I am curious. The threadbare remainders of the dinner discussion hovered over the topics of obsessive fans of the science fiction and horror genres. Give me but leave to try. You might even tire of me by then, you know.
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