’ ‘Why should Gérard care?’ sneered Gosse. . ” He put his hands in his pockets, his mouth puckered to a whistle, and he went to the door of the outer preparation-room and stood there, looking, save for the faintest intensification of his natural ruddiness, the embodiment of blond serenity. “Here we are, living in the same suburb,” he began. His face was half hidden under a freshly pipeclayed sola topee—sun-helmet. Jack tried it, and found it locked. ” “Of course you can. He has been bottling it up all the way from West Kensington. He was sipping a glass of cold gin and water, and smoking a short black pipe. As he lay on his back, he fancied himself gradually slipping off the platform. .
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