It probably had its own repulsive oubliette in the bottom, where tiny princesses could fall and break their necks. “I’m not going to kill you, John. He then spoke with a certain fatherly kindliness of the past. “MY DEAR MISS STANLEY,” it began,—“I hope you will forgive my bothering you with a letter, but I have been thinking very much over our conversation at Lady Palsworthy’s, and I feel there are things I want to say to you so much that I cannot wait until we meet again. That same adventurousness that had already buoyed her through crises that would have overwhelmed any normally feminine girl with shame and horror now became uppermost again.
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