In the distance a barrel-organ was grinding out a pot pourri of popular airs. Soot was everywhere, for the lamp would not stay trimmed in the gale. How dare you use my name and sing my songs?” Anna looked at her sister in blank amazement. “It’s like this,” he said, and dragged a stool beside her and sat down with his elbow four inches from hers and made a sketch. She struggled against it quite uselessly. After knocking for some time at the door without effect, he tried the latch, and to his surprise found it open. What he needed was not a food but a flavour; and the cocoanut taste of the chestnuts soothed his burning tongue and throat.
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