Kendal bad introduced him to her, in a brief encounter at the Salon, and she remembered the appreciativeness of the glance that accompanied the stout middle-aged English gentleman's bow.

Kendal had told her then that Mr.Curtis was the editor of the _Consul_.
Yes, she had a right to know his name.

And it might make the faintest shadow of a difference--but no, "The Editor" was more dignified, more impersonal; her article should go in upon its own merits, absolutely upon its own merits; and so she wrote.
It was nearly three o'clock, and cold, shivering cold.
Mr.Golightly Ticke had wholly subsided.

The fog had climbed up to her, and the candle showed it clinging to the corners of the room.

The water in the samovar was hissing.