Somehow I don't like talking to Dale about it.

Do you mind putting some coals on the fire ?" I busied myself with the coal-scuttle, lit a cigarette, and settled down to hear the story.

If it had not been told in the twilight hour by a woman with a caressing, enveloping voice like Lola Brandt's I should have yawned myself out of the house.
It was a dismal, ordinary story.

Her husband was a gentleman, a Captain Vauvenarde in the French Army.

He had fallen in love with her when she had first taken Marseilles captive with the prodigiosities of her horse Sultan.