I needed a man the worst kind of way—a man I could keep for at least six months. Lucy felt her eyes misting up, turning traitor. To O'Higgins—for all his sordid business he was not insensible to beauty—to O'Higgins she appeared to have entered the room with the light. "Vell," he growled, addressing Quilt, "you know who's here, I suppose?" "To be sure I do," replied Quilt; "my noble friend, the Marquis of Slaughterford. For a long time to come that would naturally be the theme of any story he undertook to write.
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