I’ve accustomed myself to think of you— as if you were like every other girl who works at the schools—as something quite outside these possibilities. Now he would take her away from the house before killing her, and no one would find her body at all. Romance! The romance of passing faces, of wires that carried voices and words to the far ends of the world, of tremendous mechanisms that propelled ships and trains! And, oh the beautiful books! She swiftly knelt upon the floor and once more gathered the books to her heart. Suddenly the Wastrel took hold of the edge and flung the table aside. "The gentleman is a stranger to me, Poll," replied the woollen-draper, with increased embarrassment.
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