"There's an old proverb," continued Wood, rising and walking towards the fire, "which says,—'Put another man's child in your bosom, and he'll creep out at your elbow. The chair was torture. The assemblage which was gathered together was almost countless. I'm not sure I'd go out with him anyway. Maggot. To stumble upon the trail through the agency of a bottle of whisky! Drank queer; so his bottle had rendered him conspicuous. “It is not, of course, a pleasant subject of conversation for you or for me, yet I think I may venture to suggest to you that your sister’s—er—indiscretions—have reached a point which makes a separation between you almost a necessity. She had already killed more than she wanted to count, yet she had counted them still. There was a third lady among the younger set. “I’m fine,” she said softly. But with Gosse and the woman in prison here, there is always the chance that the whole affair may be raked up all over again.
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