She wrote: "Don't you want to come up and play cards with me to-night?
We haven't had a game in over a week ?" "How did she know ?" thought Condy to himself--"how could she tell ?" Aloud, he said: "I can't join you fellows, after all.

'Despatch from the managing editor.' Some special detail or other." For the first time since the previous evening Condy felt his spirits rise as he set off toward the Washington Street hill.

But though he and Blix spent as merry an evening as they remembered in a long time, his nameless, formless irritation returned upon him almost as soon as he had bidden her good-night.

It stayed with him all through the week, and told upon his work.

As a result, three of his articles were thrown out by the editor.
"We can't run such rot as that in the paper," the chief had said.
"Can't you give us a story ?" "Oh, I've got a kind of a yarn you can run if you like," answered Condy, his week's depression at its very lowest.
"A Victory Over Death" was published in the following Sunday's supplement of the "Times," with illustrations by one of the staff artists.