“My dear friend,” she laughed, “not so tragic, if you please. "Halloa, widow!" shouted a rough voice from below, "where the devil are you?" Mrs. Life seemed a very brave and glorious enterprise to Ann Veronica that day. A woman indeed this to love and be loved, beautiful, graceful, gay. SHOOH!” “That’s no reason,” said Ann Veronica, speaking through her handkerchief and stopping abruptly. "Ever play one of these machines?" "Yes. There was scant social life on the Sha-mien aside from masculine foregatherings, little that interested him. Ye gods! what a wilderness it is! Every one trying to get the better of every one, every one regardless of every one—it’s one of those days when every one bumps against you—every one pouring coal smoke into the air and making confusion worse confounded, motor omnibuses clattering and smelling, a horse down in the Tottenham Court Road, an old woman at the corner coughing dreadfully—all the painful sights of a great city, and here you come into it to take your chances.
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