He gave her one of the sweaty red cans. His red hair marked him, cut short into a round shape that had the texture of a Brillo pad. He fancied that the turnkeys had discovered his flight and were in pursuit of him,—that they had climbed up the chimney,—entered the Red Room,— tracked him from door to door, and were now only detained by the gate which he had left unbroken in the chapel. “Have you ever seen Annabel with him?” she asked. It is we who have become the parasites and toys. And ever after it struck him that her backward smile as she disappeared was charged with some special significance. “But I am judge of that,” said Manning. The three young men exchanged expressive glances.
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