Dear me, what a difference it has made! No one would ever think that we were sisters. The houses overhung in a frightful manner, and looked as if the next gust would precipitate them into the river. The air was sweet with the smoky perfume of myrrh, hazy and dense with incense. He walked on for an hour longer, till he could scarcely drag one leg after another. Had she expected to wed Valade herself? Had the fellow broken a vow of betrothal, or abandoned her? He must find out more. But the whole set of some three or four shelves were of wood. Jim is up to the neck in Mahatmas and Theosophy and Higher Thought and rot—writes letters worse than Alice.
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