She loved Florence, wandering the huge markets which bustled day and night. " CHAPTER XVIII. She heard the rats scattering across the stone as dirt fell into the crypt. To witness this girl sewing on a loose button, flopping the coat about on her knees, tickled his ironic sense of humour; and laughter bubbled into his throat. Ashen blonde, a shade that would never excite the cynical commentary which men applied to certain types of blondes. “You call yourself an artist— but you have no temperament. We all have to kow-tow to that. The word handsome was a little beyond her grasp. ' Avoid taverns and bad company, and you may yet do well. ’ ‘And me,’ came the guttural response, ‘I will certainly murder you the very next time I am compelled to see your face. “See you.
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