"Not that I know of," replied the carpenter, who had in some degree recovered his confidence. Perhaps what urged her interest in the young man's direction was the dead whiteness of his face, the puffed eyelids and the bloodshot whites. You go home and wait a century, Vee, and then try again. He seemed to do ten things before she could think to do one, to leap upon her and take possession. She tucked her stick under her arm and re-read Manning’s letter. Where can we sit down and talk?” He led her across the room towards a window recess, in which a tall, fair young man was seated with an evening paper in his hand.
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