"Bacchanalian tableaus are not at all to my liking." "Nor mine," admitted Carl.

"As an aesthete I must own that Starrett is too fat for a really graceful villain.

I fancied you were indefinitely domiciled at the farm.

Aunt Agatha has been fussing--" "I was," nodded Diane.

"A whim of mine brought me home." Carl dropped easily into a chair and glanced at his cousin's profile.
The delicate oval of her face was firelit; her night-black hair one with the deeper shadows of the room.