She shivered, more due to his presence than the changing weather. ‘You cannot mean General Charvill?’ ‘That old martinet?’ exclaimed Roding. I told him instantly and shamelessly that the play was going to be worth ten thousand pounds. ” “If it were all true,” he said doggedly, “it may still be possible. But in its stead—toward morning—there appeared another idea which appealed to him as sublime, appealed to the primitive conscience, to his artistic sense of the drama, to the poet and the novelist in him. Shrinking involuntarily back into the farthest corner of the seat, Jack buried his face in his hands.
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