That for you!" And she snapped her fingers in his face. It was Sunday evening—a soft delicious evening, and, from the happy, cheerful look of the house, none would have dreamed of the dismal tragedy so lately acted within its walls. The effects of the heroin wore off slowly. I feel that I shall stifle unless I can do something—and do something soon. Here was a little corner of the past—a tragic corner. There were the burnt papers still in the grate. “You have forgotten. I dared not sing, I dared not laugh, except when you went away. He folded the garments carefully and replaced them on the chair.
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