"Close the door!" commanded Trenchard, impatiently. He played for an hour—Grieg, Chopin, Rubenstein, Liszt, crashing music. They set about everyone—everyone. The first peg was torture. He took the first step toward the stairs, and met the restraining hand of McClintock. " Sheppard said nothing, but a disdainful smile curled his lips. " Blueskin, meanwhile, having drained and replenished his glass, commenced chaunting a snatch of a ballad:— Once on a time, as I've heard tell. “May I ask whether you are staying with friends in town?” he inquired deferentially.
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