And he hazarded a wink at the poet over the paper on which he was sketching. Chapter IX BRENDON’S LUCK Anna sat in a chair in her room and sighed. He was full of fabulous stories, not just tales of his own past in Rome but wonderful fables from the mysterious Orient and the ancient Greeks, old jokes and yarns that only he remembered. Why hadn't he admitted that he recognized the photograph? What instinct had impelled him swiftly to assume his Oriental mask? "Why?" asked O'Higgins. She unlaced his pants and slid them down his hips, examining him as he stood before her naked. “Very good,” he said. “We are clerks in the same bank.
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