“You go home,” he said, at parting; “you go home. E. I hate what I am. ” He was bereft of words for a moment, and in that moment she escaped, having passed him on deftly to one of the later arrivals. Manning, relinquishing his cup without answering her question, “when I hear you talk of earning a living, it’s as if I heard of an archangel going on the Stock Exchange—or Christ selling doves. A black silk furbelowed scarf covered her shoulders; and over the kincob gown hung a yellow satin apron, trimmed with white Persian.
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