“Where am I?” he muttered. All that I regret are the wasted years, and I am not sure that I regret them. The inner apartment was rather gracefully furnished with a thick, fine Turkish carpet, a good brass fender, a fine old bureau, and on the walls were engravings of two young girls’ heads by Greuze, and of some modern picture of boys bathing in a sunlit pool. “Very well,” said Ann Veronica, with an air of concluding the discussion. Will you read to me? I am tired; and the sound of your voice makes me drowsy. " With no little effort—for the right words had a way of tumbling back out of reach—he marshalled his phrases, and as he uttered them, closed his eyes to lessen the possibility of a break.
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