There is so little abandon, so little real joyousness. “I have a message from your sister. ” She said, searching for her brassiere under his bed. Say I’m out, away, anything!” “I am sorry, sir,” the man answered, “but she had sent away her hansom before I answered the bell. Nevertheless there came a residuum of expostulations. They sat down in a covered pavilion that housed a grimy picnic table and a dingy fire pit. “We are only in the dawn of the Age of Friendship,” he said, “when interest, I suppose, will take the place of passions.
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