From head to foot he was attired in the fashionable garb of the young man of the moment. Chapter XXIII MONTAGUE HILL SEES LIGHT AT LAST At exactly ten minutes past ten Annabel rang the bell of her sister’s flat. "Don't leave him, if you're at all fearful, my dear," replied Wood, receiving the little burthen with a laugh. The Wastrel did not relish this. And he hazarded a wink at the poet over the paper on which he was sketching. It was painful to want him so much. A ball from Wild's pistol passed through his heart, and a volley of musketry poured from the guards lodged several balls in the yet breathing body of his leader. Ramage—about the forty pounds.
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