Westwick. How do you suppose
the criminal feels on the scaffold, while the hangman is putting
the rope around his neck? Cold and faint, too, I should think.
Excuse my grim fancy. You see, Destiny has got the rope round my neck--
and I feel it.'
She looked about her. They were at that moment close to the famous
cafe known as 'Florian's.' 'Take me in there,' she said;
'I must have something to revive me. You had better not hesitate.
You are interested in reviving me. I have not said what I wanted to say
to you yet. It's business, and it's connected with your theatre.'
Wondering inwardly what she could possibly want with his theatre,
Francis reluctantly yielded to the necessities of the situation,
and took her into the cafe. He found a quiet corner in which they could
take their places without attracting notice. 'What will you have?'
he inquired resignedly. She gave her own orders to the waiter,
without troubling him to speak for her.
'Maraschino. And a pot of tea.'
The waiter stared; Francis stared. The tea was a novelty
(in connection with maraschino) to both of them.
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