“What have you done?” 212 “It is your own fault, Lucia. The stage manager reappeared presently, and made a speech. When she spoke, her lips twitched. Every now and then she fingered an ornament, moved a piece of furniture, or rearranged some draperies. It's a pity you wouldn't give me the prescription instead of the medicine, so I could have it filled nearer home. “Remember that the man will probably die. For what could be more ironical than for Howard Spurlock to see himself grow famous under the name of Taber? The ambrosia of which he had so happily dreamt!—and this gall and wormwood! He stood up and rapped his pipe on the rail. Puffy blue curtains dressed every oakstained window. ” He admonished.
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