It engulfed them in black, white, and gray. The prostitute’s attack was predictable, typical. She watched the people and hummed softly to herself. He was standing by, rating her ladyship,—who can scarcely stir from the sofa,—while I was packing up her jewels in the case, and I observed that she tried to hide a small casket from him. I was grounded for the last two weeks. “Why did you ever let me love you? Why did you ever let me peep through the gates of Paradise? Oh! my God! I don’t begin to feel and realize this yet.
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