A dry cough's the trumpeter of death. Occasionally the mere fact of lying in bed became unendurable, and she rolled out and marched about her room and whispered abuse of herself—usually until she hit against some article of furniture. Drummond took up a cigarette and lit it. “I’ll ruin your suit. “I didn’t know you were half-Gypsy either. We were to live in some wretched London suburb. How clever she was, to fool everybody so easily! Not yet had any one suspected the truth: that she was, in a certain worldly sense, only four weeks old, that her every act had been written down on paper beforehand, and that her success lay in rigidly observing the rules which she herself had drafted to govern her conduct.
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