He was perhaps forty-five years of age. Moving swiftly to the end of the corridor, he pushed open a door at random and entered a large room, which looked to have been a saloon, judging from the faded gilt and crimson wall-paper, a mirror above the fireplace which was surrounded by an ornate gilded frame, now sadly tarnished, and a worn Chippendale sofa with striped upholstery and tasselled cushions. Get it off your soul. She had, it was true, accepted doubtfully the pen he had offered. She sat down awkwardly and helplessly on one of the little stools by her table and covered her face with her hands. ” “But it may matter very much indeed,” Anna declared.
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