The shouts of indignation—the frightful yells now raised baffle description. “None, I thank you,” he answered. An ordinary type, of course—” Mrs. “Election be hanged!” he exclaimed. Grasping one of chairs about the little table, he drew it forward and sat astride it, in a fashion as insolent as it was unexpected. She was dressed in one of those complicated dresses that are all lace and work and confused patternings of black and purple and cream about the body, and she was in many ways a younger feminine version of the same theme as himself. Like a nightmare memory that returned again and again to haunt her.
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