Wood, was much better furnished with eatables than might have been expected, and boasted a loaf, a knuckle of ham, a meat-pie, and a flask of wine. But to make an arrest to be like a revenge? No, a thousand times. ‘I’ll play you at your own game,’ he growled, holding the foreshortened foil in place with rigid control. “I’ve been looking out for you,” he said. Anna leaned back with half closed eyes. There were seven tales in all—short stories—a method of expression quite strange to her, after the immense canvases of Dickens and Hugo. 1.
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