CHAPTER IV. “MY DEAR GIRL,— “I am so sorry if we made asses of ourselves to-night. “Thank you—for coming,” he said. “Yes! I must! The thing is becoming a torture to me. His hair had begun to gray, his belly had just begun to round. If I do not look after her, she has no one. Life is a patchwork of impressions, of vanishing personalities. 276 He opened the box. I knew where I would go next: Florence. On the other hand the two young men who sat on either side of Anna were already throwing murderous glances at the newcomer.
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