It was his redemption, his ticket out of hell—that blue-serge coat. I took him out of the hands of death. Earles closed the piano with a little bang. This time they would call it murder. “Won’t you have some more tea, Mr. ” “Do you think that it was wise of you, or kind to come?” she asked quietly. I may tell him, at any rate, that you will see him?” “I shall like to see him,” Anna answered. It was her distinctive test of an emotional state, its interference with a kindly normal digestion. These things did not harmonize with his conception of the forthcoming (if unavoidable) interview. “Are you feeling okay?” “Just fine. He’ll do. Probably he will come around to-morrow and begin all over again.
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