He continued tenderly, almost affectionately. " "Give you the best I have in either case," replied Figg. How long have you been playing?” Lucy breathed an internal sigh of relief. 47 was no more than a sort of railway compartment on the way to that. He reappeared in street clothes, his cropped hair not even damp from the shower, fresh-faced and sweetsmelling. The commissionaire smiled. A wide terrace then led to large iron gates,' over which were placed the two celebrated figures of Raving and Melancholy Madness, executed by the elder Cibber, and commemorated by Pope in the Dunciad, in the wellknown lines:— "Close to those walls where Folly holds her throne, And laughs to think Monroe would take her down, Where, o'er the gates, by his famed father's hand, Great Cibber's brazen, brainless brothers stand.
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