…a good deal too solid for me, but which she ate as only a girl in her station can eat; whilst I, looking on, watched the colour slowly creep back to her ashen cheeks, and the raindrops rise in minute vapour clouds from her skirt and boots.” Now,” she said, as she drained the last drop of coffee from her cup, and shook her head when I asked her if she would have any more, ”now, you’ve kept your bargain and I’ll keep mine. You asked me to tell you about him, and so I will. To begin with, by him I mean Jim Bailey — my young man Jim. But, of course, I suppose you’ve guessed that. Journalists know a thing or two — at least, so I’ve always understood. Well, in speaking of Jim I’m not going to beat about the bush; hat wasn’t his wish — not…

…— sitting in the front row of the stalls, gazing at the stage, which, like the entire auditorium, was bathed in funereal gloom. Presently a hollow sounding clock boomed twelve, and, ere the last notes had died away, the orchestra filled with vast formless things that, seating themselves, evidently in their accustomed places, at the signal of their conductor beat their spectral palms frantically together. On to the stage from either wing there then wriggled and writhed in ghastly imitation of worms, shapes which suggested more than I dare to name — and which I shrank from analysing. And whilst they were in the midst of their hateful evolutions, a cloud of arrows suddenly burst upon them, and, on looking round, I saw, to my terror, that boxes, circles, and gallery were filled with huntsmen, who now levelled their bows at me. A thousand burning pains rushed through my body,…