"I'm not particular about rooms. Heaven knows what dim and tawdry conceptions of passion and desire were in that blond cranium, what romance-begotten dreams of intrigue and adventure! but they sufficed, when presently Ann Veronica went out into the darkling street again, to inspire a flitting, dogged pursuit, idiotic, exasperating, indecent. Denis. They did not have to wait long. All the rest of his existence was subordinate to this pursuit; he lived for it, worked for it, kept himself in training for it. Her soul was full of the sense of disaster. "My name is Darrell," said the fugitive hastily. Ruth stared into the painted face, now sundrily cracked by the coursing tears.
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