Sheppard. Kneebone," observed Shotbolt, as he emptied his tenth tumbler; "I'm sure he's meditating an escape, and hopes to accomplish it to-night. A hush descended across the audience as instruments tuned, creating small ladders of fifths that collapsed abruptly, snatches of solos that disappeared and reappeared like gags in a house of mirrors. The game lasted until 7:13. How the deuce did I ever manage to father such a brainless nincompoop? A nun, for God’s sake! A confounded Catholic nun. “It was poison—why not?” she answered. . It seemed as if each time her imagination reached out investingly, an invisible lash beat it back. "O God!" he exclaimed, "I am severely punished.
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