"How go you like your quarters, sauce-box?" asked Sharples, in a jeering tone. He was a civil servant of some standing, and after a previous conversation upon aesthetics of a sententious, nebulous, and sympathetic character, he had sent her a small volume, which he described as the fruits of his leisure and which was as a matter of fact rather carefully finished verse. Clotilde pried Fritz from Lucy’s left leg where he was clinging. “Those things are not for me just at present. ‘It is to say goodbye, you understand. He delayed the blow till the fortunate conjuncture was past.
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