She moved forward almost indiscernibly, a millimeter. Will you let your servant call me a hansom,” she continued, opening the door before he could reach her side. I want to but I cannot! Please accept that!” She yelled. And every day's experience proves that I was right. Her companion was a portly handsome man, also dressed in a full suit of the deepest mourning, with the finest of lace at his bosom and wrists, and a sword in a black sheath by his side. At the present moment she was living in a world of her own creation, a carnival of brave men and fair women, characters out of the tales she had so newly read for the first time. ‘I cannot possibly shoot a lady, you know.
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