She mounted the stairs of the theatrical agent’s office with very much less than her usual buoyancy, nor did she find much encouragement in the general appearance of the room into which she was shown. I want to do something. It had been a trying day. A dark mass of wreckage, over which hung a slight mist of vapour, lay half in the ditch, half across the hedge, close under a tree from the trunk of which the bark had been torn and stripped. Jack is registered in the Black Book. Then there came briskly along the path towards her, an Englishman. Was there ever such madness?” “I am afraid that I don’t understand,” Ennison answered. And I’m afraid.
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