But I don’t want to. And the woman who showed this room was tall, with an understanding eye and the quiet manner of the well-trained servant. But the sheer immensity of the tract! James Boyle was certainly up against it, hard. Shall we sit outside and drink a petit verre of something to give us an appetite while dinner is being prepared?” “Certainly not,” she answered. Cool and sunny, it seemed that God himself smiled upon that day, the sunbeams streaming through the magnificent arches dustily as the priest murmured in soporific Latin. It was a neat, efficient-looking room, with a writing-table placed with a business-like regard to the window, and a bookcase surmounted by a pig’s skull, a dissected frog in a sealed bottle, and a pile of shiny, black-covered note-books. It was a night well-fitted to their enterprise, calm, still, and profoundly dark.
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