” “Good God!” said Mr. " "That I will," replied Jack, "in the twinkling of a bedpost. He did not know—and probably never would unless she told him—that it was very easy (and comfortable for a woman) to fall into slatternly ways in this latitude. In his muscular pudgy hand was a photograph, frayed at the corners, soiled from the contact of many hands: the portrait of a youth of eighteen. Then she dropped the curtain and stepped back into the room. Jack dropped the knife, and walked sullenly aside. She was clad in fresh linen, but still wore the riding-habit she had appropriated, having sponged out the spots of blood late last night and left it to dry in the kitchens. You, Anna, are one of them.
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