195 < 24 > A CITY IN GREECE, 589 B. “Number 13, please, cabman. The trees were graceful and brown, arching and fanning their golden leaves as if to shower with coins the pink-gold sky. She could not be more than twenty; and though want and other suffering had done the work of time, had wasted her frame, and robbed her cheek of its bloom and roundness, they had not extinguished the lustre of her eyes, nor thinned her raven hair. Wild's chief janizary?" "I'd rob Mr. I will take you for thirty-five shillings a week. "Friday!" echoed Mrs. Come along with us in the morning. ‘It is Yol—’ She broke off abruptly, her face collapsing into an expression of acute consternation.
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