The air was so strong with smoke, the lights so dim, the voices so many, that Olva finding a corner near an open window slipped, it might almost seem, from the world.

Outside the snow, threatening all day, now fell heavily; the old Court took it with a gentleness that showed that the snow was meant for it, and the snow covered the grey roofs and the smooth grass with a satisfaction that could almost be heard, so deep was it.

Just this little window-pane between the world that Olva was leaving and the world to which he was going! He caught fragments: "Just that last run--gorgeous--but old Snodky says that that horse of his---" "My dear fellow, you take it from me--they can't get on without it.

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