I'll blow you off to the swaggerest dinner in London.
What d'ye say?"

She shook her head. "I shall have some bread and cheese
and beer at nine. That's my rule, you know. I don't
like to break it. I'm always queer next day if I do.
But now make haste and tell me--you're really not broken
then? You have really come out well?"

For answer he rose, and drew himself to his full height,
and spread his bulky shoulders backward. His grey-blue
eyes looked down upon her with a triumphant glow.

"Broken?" he echoed her word, with emphasis.
"My dear Louisa, I'm not the sort that gets broken.
I break other people. Oh, God, how I shall break them!"

He began pacing up and down on the narrow rug before
the fender, excitedly telling his story to her.
Sometimes he threw the words over his shoulder;
again he held her absorbed gaze with his. He took his
hands often from his pockets, to illustrate or enforce
by gestures the meaning of his speech--and then she found
it peculiarly difficult to realize that he was her brother.

Much of the narrative, rambling and disconnected,
with which he prefaced this story of the day, was vaguely
familiar to her. He sketched now for her in summary,
and with the sonorous voice of one deeply impressed with the
dramatic values of his declamation, the chronicle of his