The chief of these was a figure of Liberty, with a cat at her feet, in allusion to the supposed origin of the fortunes of its former founder, Sir Richard Whittington. ‘Ah, trying to be the young hero, I take it, which is why he near got hisself killed. For what indeed does she do? A simple song, no gesture, no acting, nothing. The trees were graceful and brown, arching and fanning their golden leaves as if to shower with coins the pink-gold sky. The joy of being loved thrilled her as nothing before had ever done, a curious abstract joy which had nothing in it at that moment of regret or even pity. This is simply a chapter of coincidences. She had animated dark blue-gray eyes under her fine eyebrows, and dark brown hair that rolled back simply and effectively from her broad low forehead. "Now, give me the woollen cloth to tie round my fetters," whispered Sheppard.
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