She felt herself falling, her bile rising in her 61 throat, the cold wind spinning around her like vertigo. The office is a sight—not one sheet of paper on another; bills and receipts everywhere. Not a star could be discerned, but, in their stead, streaks of lurid radiance, whence proceeding it was impossible to determine, shot ever and anon athwart the dusky vault, and added to the ominous and threatening appearance of the night. ‘Gerald, what have you been about? Dorothée tells me that you were flirting outrageously with Madame Valade on Monday night. Water soaked her through in five minutes. "I thought you'd have got rid of your ill-humour by this time. Wood.
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