To her mind, recalling the picture of him the night before, there had been something tragic in the grim silent manner of his tippling. He was brooding over her, she could sense it, and the shadowy circles around his lovely dark eyes bespoke a terrible ongoing insomnia. CHAPTER IX. " "What shall I do?" cried Mrs. Sheppard,—"pray let me go. Be warned by your father's fate. She’d prefer that I read classic literature, of course, but she only reads paperback romance novels, so she can’t exactly complain. While he thus vented his rage, the door again opened, and Quilt Arnold rushed into the room, bleeding, and half-dressed. At once divining the meaning of this ingenious device, he applied his mouth to the tube, and sucked away, while the person outside poured spirit into the bowl.
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