The wine was sweetened with cinnamon and cloves and rare edible flowers, which her father had instructed her not to drink excessively of. So perfect was the illusion, that he could almost fancy he heard the solemn voice of the ordinary warning him that his race was nearly run, and imploring him to prepare for eternity. “You come into these sordid surroundings—you mustn’t mind my calling them sordid—and it makes them seem as though they didn’t matter. Now it is—’ ‘What are you doing still here, missie, that’s what I’d like to know?’ demanded the man Trodger, sticking to his guns. " "Would you be angry if I offered it to you?" "Very. He was mad.
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