Here we go, thought Gerald. The room behind was another small antechamber, presumably linking the back rooms. Over the sea of heads arose a black and dismal object. ‘What, miss?’ asked Jack Kimble from behind her. I have written, called—of what avail is anything—against that look. “Why shouldn’t one face the facts of one’s self?” She stood up. His figure was uncommonly slim even for his age, which could not be more than thirteen; and the looseness of his garb made him appear thinner than he was in reality. She felt she must get him talking upon some impersonal theme at any cost.
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