Sydney Courtlaw—Mr. I had dreamt of the olive grove beyond the courtyard I had once been fascinated 198 with as a boy. A thousand eager assistants pressed behind him. He was a tall man and fair, with bluish eyes that were rather protuberant, and long white hands of which he made a display. The sun was setting, casting long dreary shadows across deformed apple trees. ‘Idiot!’ ‘Enough, now! Softly, you little termagant,’ he ordered, seizing her wrists to hold her off. ” “I care as a man cares only once in his life,” he answered promptly. Suddenly, she heard the crunch of new feet on the gravel.
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