Surely he was imagining this picture. They were in many respects so right; she clung to that, and shirked more and more the paradoxical conviction that they were also somehow, and even in direct relation to that rightness, absurd. She would wake in the night to repeat her bitter cry: “Oh, why did I burn those notes?” It added greatly to the annoyance of the situation that she had twice seen Ramage in the Avenue since her return to the shelter of her father’s roof. She remained for some seconds crouching at the fender, poker in hand. “Even if he lives here you may go all your life and never come face to face with him again. He hesitated. There was no other door in it, and Jack therefore struck into another entry which branched off to the right.
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