Stanley, produced a portrait from its hiding-place in the jewel-drawer under the mirror. "My sight is failing me. It was long and narrow, a well-lit, wellventilated, quiet gallery of small tables and sinks, pervaded by a thin smell of methylated spirit and of a mitigated and sterilized organic decay. Arriving at the chapel, their wonder increased. I hope you won’t mind if I say first that I think it does me an extraordinary honor that you should think of any one like myself so highly and seriously, and, secondly, that I wish it had not been written. The turning of the key startled her, but she did not see how she could make an objection.
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