Turning off again on the left, down Seacoal Lane, they arrived at the mouth of a dark, narrow alley, into which they plunged; and, at the farther extremity found a small yard, overlooked by the blank walls of a large gloomy habitation. “Go on,” he said. At once. . ’ Much to Melusine’s chagrin, Gerald folded his arms and leaned back, as if wholly at his ease. “Go to the far corner,” he said, “and sing the last verse of Les Petites. She is a fortune-teller and a vessel for man’s pleasure. “What ought you to do?” “I’ve hunted up all sorts of things. Wood, leaping from the bed.
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