“I won’t go home,” she said; “I won’t!” and she evaded the clutch of the fatherly policeman and tried to thrust herself past him in the direction of that big portal. The real tragedy—which he sensed and toward which he was always reaching—eluded all his verbal skill. Then she was turning, ignoring the muttered cursing and the rattling that immediately ensued at the door. ‘And it is not only a question of her identity, but a matter of her life as well. That day Gerald had brought her to this excessively careful house, where she had felt very much alone and very unlike herself. He leaned forward to better drink her in.
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