" The order was promptly obeyed. I sha'n't utter a word. I did not care—no woman really cares—to play the beggar maid to your King Cophetua. " And, as if to make the moral more obvious, a dirty pack of cards was scattered, underneath, upon the sawdust. As she did so, the ruffles to the jacket of her riding habit fell away, exposing livid blue bruises about her wrist, ugly in the light of day from the window at their back. “Poor old daddy! I wonder if he’ll spend much on the fatted calf?. .
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