Sweet sixteen year old Shari, who never once figured out the morning sleep hangovers she suffered monthly. It was not a cambric curtain Ruth had drawn across that part of her life: it was of iron. The woollen-draper was no despicable trencherman in a general way; but his feats with the knife and fork were child's sport compared with those of Mr. " "Rather behind me;" and he spoke no more that morning. . He stood upon the threshold, dangling his eye-glasses in his fingers, stolid, imperturbable, mildly interrogative. He had a handsome, jolly-looking face; stood six feet two in his stockings; and measured more than a cloth-yard shaft across the shoulders—athletic proportions derived from his father the dragoon. E. He watched her, savoring her curious attention. “Let’s go.
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