At the present moment she was living in a world of her own creation, a carnival of brave men and fair women, characters out of the tales she had so newly read for the first time. They tracked the fugitive to the Mint; but, like hounds at fault, they here lost all scent of their prey. If he had got off, they might have hanged me, and welcome. Well-balanced, sane, wasn’t I? You never heard anyone call me a madman? I’m pretty near being one now, and it’s her fault. org/fundraising. He turned irresolutely to the table upon which lay the scattered leaves of his old manuscripts. ” “For example?” “Your dyed hair. “MY DEAR VERONICA,—Your aunt tells me you have involved yourself in some arrangement with the Widgett girls about a Fancy Dress Ball in London.
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