“What?” He replied. The sing-song girl rose and meekly pattered out of the office into the night. “Do you know,” she said, “that every one is remarking how ill you look. ” There came a silence again. Wood's astonishment and displeasure momentarily increased. Lightheaded, she threw up in the courtyard of the Palazzo as servants crowded her in alarm. “Miserable bounder,” he murmured. There were perches inside where she could crouch and labyrinths underneath where she could hide. Her own pack was so light that she left it in the locker. She was always the last person to exit after the crowds had stampeded, trailing slowly behind them like dust.
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