Stanley, in his effort to seem at ease, took entire possession of the hearthrug. The horns were the worst, slipping in and out of tune and rushing the easy sections, fighting everyone else. “Do you think it is fair of you to persecute me just now?” “It is not persecution, Anna,” he answered gently. “As if it could possibly matter what such a person thinks of you. He had dungarees on and a blue work shirt. This last operation was so fatiguing, that for a short time he was obliged to pause to recover the use of his fingers. It reverberated in the silence. A sprinkling of callow youths, and a couple of pronounced young Jews, who were talking loudly together in some unintelligible jargon of the City. Her interest grew as she read, a certain distaste disappeared. The situation bothered him considerably.
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