She had been to San Francisco, and what I learned about the world was from her. She returned home through a world that was as roseate as it had been gray overnight. The spirit I drink may be poison,—it may kill me,—perhaps it is killing me:—but so would hunger, cold, misery,—so would my own thoughts. “Nobody understands them, of course, but we all look as though we did. My will is executed, and placed in safe custody. ‘Could she have been a spy, after all?’ ‘Oh, she’s not a spy,’ Gerald answered, almost absently. But I swear she ain’t told me nothing more, sir. ’ ‘Entertained, he says!’ ‘Intrigued, then,’ amended Gerald equably, although truth to tell he was enjoying the mystery enormously. “Wow.
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