The Pomp of the Lavilettes, Complete

notonous and frequent, coming from his room the whole night-the hacking, rending cough which she had heard so often since he came. The fear of Vanne Castine, the memories of the wild, hal

face, she recalled vividly. All that he was, which was different from the people she had known, she magnified, so that to her he

orn and brought up with the sort of people he comes f

r bed; and although she could not see it, she loathed it, because she knew it was a painful mess of colours. With a little touch of dramatic ext

at before. How he must laugh a

ng cough came faintly thr

g to kill him, to

cry, which she stopped by putting both hands

. Well, what does it matter what becomes of me afterwards? I should have had him; I should have loved him; he should have been mine for a little while anyway. I'd be good to him; oh, I'd be good to him! Who else is there? He'll get worse and worse; and what will any o

, she shook her brown hai

have my fingers chopped off one by one for it. I'd break eve

rable when he was miserable, happy when he was happy. Vanne Castine-what was he! What was it that made me care for him then? And now-now he travels with a bear, and they toss coppers to him; a beggar, a tramp-a dirty, lazy tramp! He hates

e droning thr

nybody would. I saw Sophie look at him as she never lo

d burst into a fit of weeping. When it passed, she lay still and nerveless between the coars