"From
eleven till dawn, I suppose?"
The Prophet shuddered.
"Eleven till three will be sufficient, my love. The crab, you know, has
pretty well done his London work by that time. And the old lady will
have to depend very much on the crab for these few nights."
At this point the Prophet's brain began to swim. Sparks seemed to float
before his eyes, and amid these sparks, nebulous and fragmentary visions
appeared, visions of his beloved grandmother companioned by scorpions
and serpents, in close touch with camelopards and bovine monsters, and,
in the last stress of terror and dismay, left entirely dependent
upon crustaceans for that help and comfort which hitherto her devoted
grandson had ever been thankful to afford.
"Oh, very well," replied Madame. "You will be able to get to bed at
three, Mr. Vivian. Dot that down."
"Thank you," murmured the Prophet, making a minute pencil scratch in the
midst of a bill for butcher's meat.
"During these hours--but you can tell him the rest, Jupiter."
So saying, and with an air of one retiring from business upon a
well-earned competence, Madame Sagittarius lay back in her chair,
settled her bonnet-strings, flicked a crumb from the football of violets
that decorated her left side, and, extending her kid boots towards
the cheerful blaze that came from the fire, fell with a sigh into a
comfortable meditation.
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