"The
simple life doesn't include luxuries of this sort. Only three left,
Columbus! After that, your missis'll starve."
She lighted a cigarette with a faint pucker on her wide brow. Her eyes
looked out over the empty, tumbling sea--grey eyes very level in their
regard under black brows that were absolutely straight and inclined to be
rather heavily accentuated.
"Yes, I wish I'd asked Muff for a few before I came away," was the
outcome of her reflections. "By this time tomorrow I shan't have one
left. Just think of that, my Christopher, and be thankful that you're
just a dog to whom one rat tastes very like another!"
Columbus sneezed protestingly. Whatever his taste in rats,
Cigarette smoke did not appeal to him. His mistress's fondness for it
was her only failing in his eyes.
She went on reflectively, her eyes upon the sky-line. "I shall have to
take in washing to eke out a modest living in cigarettes and chocolates.
I can't subsist on Mr. Rickett's Woodbines, that's quite certain. I
wonder if there's a pawnshop anywhere near."
Her voice was low and peculiarly soft; she uttered her words with
something of a drawl. Her hands were clasped about her knees, delicate
hands that yet looked capable.
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