E. She closed the book that she had been pretending to read and gathered her black umbrella and her backpack, a childish accoutrement she despised. What with these converging roofs that shut out all but a hand's breadth of the sky, sunshine was rare at this point. "I knew how it would be," she cried, in the shrill voice peculiar to a shrew, "when you brought that worthless hussy's worthless brat into the house. No great lover of state or state costume at any time, he was generally, towards the close of an evening, completely in dishabille, and in this condition he now presented himself to his subjects. He had offered to escort the young lady to England where she might seek refuge with her relations there, and proposed that the maid Yolande might serve Miss Charvill. He knew she had been weeping. He forces an engagement upon her. I suppose this is the sort of damned rubbish—” “Oh! Ssh, Peter!” cried Miss Stanley.
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