From his wallet he brought forth a yellow letter. " Spurlock's glance shot up, flaming again. " The air in the narrow street, which was not eight feet wide, swarmed with smells impossible to define; but all at once the pleasantly pungent odour of Chinese incense drifted across the girl's face, and gratefully she quickened her inhalations. He was a philosopher. Wood, now more buxom and more gorgeously arrayed than ever,—as well as a young and beautiful female, in whom he was at no loss to recognise the carpenter's daughter. “Have you ever seen Annabel with him?” she asked. She hung for a moment, and then went on, conclusively, “Until we have the vote that is how things WILL be.
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