That's a queer yarn. The houses they flitted to and from were glutted with hangers-on, servant/mistresses, and errant prostitutes. “I have stood it for a month, Anna,” he exclaimed. Wish SHE”—he indicated Miss Klegg’s back with a nod—“was at the bottom of the sea. No one spoke to her. When it came time to eat once again, she hid out on the beach, a remote fastness beyond the city walls, a swampy morass that everyone avoided. “She’s my wife,” the man muttered. She had very frizzy hair indeed, very black eyebrows, a profusion of metallic adornments about her neck and waist, and an engaging smile.
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