“That is very nice of you,” she said. Annabel watched her with wide-open, terrified eyes. I am carrying back a hundred new books and forty new records for the piano-player. His stories had enchanted her, even if in some deep corner of her heart she guessed they were not entirely true. "Of course," rejoined the bystander, who had just spoken, and who was of a cynical turn,—"the greater the rascal, the better they like him. That is an evil place!” She cried. The beachcomber, the lowest in the human scale; and some day he would enter into this estate.
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