a swallow
through
the
pavement
traffic.
Fiorsen
stood
still and
laughed
with his
head
thrown
back. The
second
time
to-day.
SHE had
slipped
from his
grasp.
Passers
looked at
him,
amazed.
The ugly
devils!
And with a
grimace,
he turned
out of
Piccadilly,
past St.
James's
Church,
making for
Bury
Street.
They
wouldn't
let him
in, of
course--not
they! But
he would
look at
the
windows;
they had
flower-boxes--flower-boxes!
And,
