It was just a shabby, stupid, furtive business that began between us. All other things were without weight or consequence before the fact that this poor young man would have to depend upon her for his life. All the world about her seemed to be—how can one put it?—in wrappers, like a house when people leave it in the summer. She seemed to think he was merely the paymaster, handing over the means of her freedom. " "Are you man, or fiend?" exclaimed Trenchard, staring at the stranger, as he concluded his narration. She slid her cheek down the tweed sleeve of his coat. " Ten minutes' walk brought them to the hotel. You’ll end there one day, mark my words.
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