’ He glanced at the portrait behind her. “I wonder if you will?” “Let me say one thing,” he said. . "It's better," observed Sheppard, meaningly. A disagreeable young man, with red hair and a loose mouth, seated at the reporter’s table, was only too manifestly sketching her. Look in the small hide-bound book that he keeps in his boot. You must tell me what it all means. “I can’t. I don’t know. But perhaps if people didn’t like clear, bright, healthy eyes—which is biologically understandable—they couldn’t like precious stones. Soho! boys. You would rather live like the scum of the earth, in that little brown hovel you call a house, in bourgeois paradise.
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