Manchurian Books

She was a bustling, commonplace little creature, with
an expressionless face, indented rather than molded in features. Her
plump hands were covered with jewels, but for all the richness of
her gown she gave the impression of being very badly dressed; things
of jet and metal bobbed and ticked upon her, and her side-combs were
continually falling about. She sat on the sofa and looked at the
seat which St. George was to have and began to talk--all without
taking the slightest heed of him or permitting him to mention the
_Evening Sentinel_ or his errand. If St. George had been painted
purple he felt sure that she would have acted quite the same.
Personality meant nothing to her.
"Now this distressing matter, Mr. St. George," began Mrs. Hastings,
"of this frightful mulatto woman. I didn't see her myself--no, I had
stopped in on the first floor to visit my lawyer's wife who was ill
with neuralgia, and I didn't see the creature. If I had been with my
niece I dare say it wouldn't have occurred. That's what I always say
to my niece.


Pages:
38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49 50 51 52 53 54 55 56 57 58 59 60 61 62