Annabel, I cannot believe it. Gay, the poet, who wrote the 'Captives,' which was lately acted at Drury Lane, and was so much admired by the Princess of Wales. His arm entered the round window of the white haze of her vision, his wrist spouting blood in currents, dripping on the stone floor. . The Law was around the corner and down the narrow hall, puffing a Virginia Slims Menthol in frantic sips, teetering uncomfortably out of an emergency exit door. Still he had a decent look, and decidedly the air of one well-to-do in the world.
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