I hate myself!” She collapsed to the floor, sobbing. It was at his side below the breast, hidden by the dark colour of his close-fitting jacket. Daily contact with actual human beings all the more inclined her toward the imaginative. Austin could scarcely credit his senses when he beheld him. Instantly she seized the poker and made a desperate effort to get them out again. What else could one say? I left him to suppose—a registry perhaps. You're alone, too, child. Still—” Then, with incredible and obviously deliberate stupidity, and a voice as flat as her own, he asked, “Who is the man?” Her spirit raged within her at the dumbness, the paralysis that had fallen upon her.
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