THE SWEET-SCENTED NAME
She sat on the sofa, looking very pale. She was big and strong; he little and emaciated.
The loose sleeves of her blouse dangled on her shoulders, and her white arms stretched upward looked those of an acrobat. She was evidently capable of holding hands up for a long time.
Enjoying her confusion, Moshkin added slowly and suggestively:
"Only move! But tremble!"
He went up to a picture.
"How much is it worth?" he asked.
"Twenty-two pounds without the frame," said the young lady unhappily.
He fumbled in his pocket for his pen-knife, and then jabbed a great cross into the canvas.
"Ah!" exclaimed the girl, holding her hands up.
He went up to a marble bust.
"How much is it worth?"
"Thirty pounds."
He knocked off its nose with his key, then an ear, then chipped the cheeks. The lady sighed softly, and it was pleasant to hear her soft sighing.
He cut up some more pictures, cut open the back of an armchair, broke some vases.
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