Mrs. ” Ennison glanced at the other people in the box and smiled. She was always breaking rules, whispering asides, intimating signals. It was easy enough to lie to anyone else. It did not cheer or fortify him with false courage and recklessness; it simply enveloped him in a mist of unreality. Towards this box Sharples directed his steps, and, unlocking a hatch in the door, disclosed a recess scarcely as large, and certainly not as clean, as a dog-kennel. "My own father!" Queerly the room and its objects receded and vanished; and there intervened a series of mental pictures that so long as she lived would ever be recurring.
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