At the cost of quite a number of torn drafts she succeeded in evolving this: “DEAR MR. "Now, Mr. He played for an hour—Grieg, Chopin, Rubenstein, Liszt, crashing music. You must know, Sir, when he was a lad, the day after he broke into his master's house in Wych Street, he picked a gentleman's pocket in our church, during sarvice time,—that he did, the heathen. ” “Remember that you are young still, and fond of admiration,” Anna said. "Ah!" exclaimed Lady Trafford, exerting all her strength.
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