Listen, you. As O'Higgins signed the hotel register, his keen glance took in the latest signatures. He has told me sufficient of you—" "My dear," interposed Wood, "for goodness' sake—" "I will speak," screamed his wife, totally disregarding the interruption; "I will tell this worthless creature what I know about her,—and what I think of her. The angels in Heaven shall not tear you from me. She caught at the idea. In one hand she carried a long-stalked red rose, dripping with dew, in the other the post-bag. ‘Alors, pig!’ she cried and lunged in quarte. Business exists for such interruptions. You make me angry, and I lie. .
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