CHAPTER XI. And the hunter home from the hill. ‘Typical. Ann Veronica blushed. A thousand dollars is a lot of money for an author to earn. But she disapproved more and more of her own mental austerity. Sometimes the moon was totally eclipsed; at others, it shed a wan and ghastly glimmer over the masses rolling in the firmament. A new inexplicable madness that urged him to shrill ironically the story of his coat—to take it off and fling it at the feet of any stranger who chanced to be nigh. "And, does any of our bright blood flow in the veins of a ruffianly housebreaker?" cried Trenchard, with a look of bewilderment. Besides, he was a Yale man.
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