‘You escape from your own convent, at great personal danger. \" He commented heartily, wiping the sweat from his brow with his hand. He had forgiven everybody. Were you born here, madame?’ ‘Mais non. It was as if Grace-church Street, with all its shops, its magazines, and ceaseless throng of passengers, were stretched from the Middlesex to the Surrey shore. Visiting? Dressed for it, certainly. Against the sinister, the threatening, monstrous inhumanity of the limitless city, there was nothing now but this supreme, ugly fact of a pursuit— the pursuit of the undesired, persistent male.
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