People were passing in the street below. It was locked. "For my part, it's only what I expected of him," observed Mrs. Gay, was a stout, good-looking, good-humoured man, about thirty-six, with a dark complexion, an oval face, fine black eyes, full of fire and sensibility, and twinkling with roguish humour—an expression fully borne out by the mouth, which had a very shrewd and sarcastic curl. The joy that filled her veins with throbbing fire urged her to rise and go swinging and whirling and dipping. Mountains out of molehills and armies out of windmills; and you'll tire yourself in one direction and shatter yourself in the other. Good riddance to bad rubbish. Well, they’d got to the pheasants, and in a little while he would smoke. On the present occasion, he appeared to have bestowed more than ordinary attention on his toilette.
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