ABSTRACT
“My compliments to Crispin, child,” said Henry, as Sylvia came in to say good-bye to him. “Don’t jog my elbow.” He was engaged in decorating a History of Chess which was about to be published. “Nor my head. Good-bye, and don’t be more foolish than you can help.” The door shut behind her, and he returned to the exquisite intricacies of his work.
