Mrs. Her wings were oddly weak, but for all that she could fly. "And so, you really suspected me?" murmured Mrs. \" Shari drawled as she looked up from her dissected sausage. The colouring was green and white, with softly shaded electric lights, an alcove bedstead, which was a miracle of daintiness, white furniture, and a long low dressing-table littered all over with a multitude of daintily fashioned toilet appliances. The theme was a masquerade. “My sister and I,” she said slowly, “have seen very little of each other lately.
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