And the Mayor, looking upon this fact as specially planned by a propitious god of love, had tried to kiss the witch as they shot up the darkened shaft.

If I remind you that the witch was still accompanied by her broomstick, Harold, a creature of unreasoning fidelity, I need hardly describe the scene further.

The Mayor stepped out of the lift with a tingling scraped face, and if he had possessed enough hair on his head, it would have been on end.

As it was, when the lift stopped, he retrieved his hat from the floor with a frank oath, and, as the witch had at once rung the bell of Miss Ford's flat, he instinctively followed her across that threshold.
She looked round in the hall, and said with a friendly smile: "I'm afraid Harold gets a bit irritable sometimes.

I often tell him to count ten before he lets himself go, but he forgets.