He can't play cards, either, when he's sober. Now let us forget it. "Miss Enschede, you're seven kinds of a brick!" "A brick?" He chuckled. Nay, for aught I know, some of them may even now have got scent of me. His chest heaved violently, and big tears coursed rapidly down his cheeks. Wood glanced at the hardy offender, and not liking the expression of his countenance, thought it advisable to postpone the execution of his threats to a more favourable opportunity. " "A short man, isn't he, about your height, Sir,—with a yellow beard, and a face as sly as a fox's?" "Hem!" replied Wood, coughing slightly to conceal a smile; "the description's not amiss. ’ She turned and swept away from him, pacing the length of the room to the window Gerald had unshuttered.
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