Chapter XXVIII THE HISSING OF “ALCIDE” There was a strange and ominous murmur of voices, a shuffling of feet in the gallery, a silence, which was like the silence before a storm. " Spurlock lowered his voice. He will tell you confidentially that he simply hates the place. " Spurlock grew limp in his chair. She answered in whispers, for there was the white arm of a woman in the next box peeping beyond the partition within a yard of him. Day after day—five, to be exact—she had returned to Morgan's; and each time the man would understand what had drawn her, and with a kindly smile would sit down at the piano and play. " "How do you manage that, Mr.
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