"It's an odd-shaped one," rejoined Kneebone, examining it attentively. Moving swiftly to the end of the corridor, he pushed open a door at random and entered a large room, which looked to have been a saloon, judging from the faded gilt and crimson wall-paper, a mirror above the fireplace which was surrounded by an ornate gilded frame, now sadly tarnished, and a worn Chippendale sofa with striped upholstery and tasselled cushions. Shari was snoring soundly. He could not tell whether she was English or American. "I owe you nothing," he repeated, dully. It is a lovely little appendage to the mother who smiles over it, and it does things quaintly like her, gestures with her very gestures. He talked in the same style, and pretty nearly in the same language; laughed in the same manner, and coughed, or sneezed at the same time. So I made haste and recovered. Earles.
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