Lucian stooped down and brushed an imaginary speck from his boot toe, saying, as he did so: "I was forestalled."
"How?"
"The—fellow—is dead."
"Oh, well, I don't care about dead men—what I am anxious about is this—"
"Oh, yes," maliciously. "Return to subject under discussion. You embarked in this enterprise in June—"
"Bother," impatiently.
"Late in Summer, bagged your game; in early Autumn, fitted up this jolly old rookery—"
Cora gave a sniff of disdain.
"Next—well, you know what next. We haven't been two months at this last job."
"Nevertheless I am tired of it."