But I had to know for sure. Then a third secretarial opening occurred and renewed her hopes again: a position as amanuensis—with which some of the lighter duties of a nurse were combined— to an infirm gentleman of means living at Twickenham, and engaged upon a great literary research to prove that the “Faery Queen” was really a treatise upon molecular chemistry written in a peculiar and picturesquely handled cipher. He threw the doctor out of the Palazzo on his rear, sending him to the insane plague-infested streets. “Hey,” he said, his eyes slowly adjusting to the soft blackness. “There ought to be a Censorship of Books. ” “You’re lucky to live in an age when you can do so. “Thank God,” he exclaimed.
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