"Thanks," he said, holding out a thin white hand. She walked for a mile or more recklessly, close veiled, with swift level footsteps, though her brain was in a whirl and a horrible faintness all the time hovered about her. She could not resist enduing persons she met with the noble attributes of the fictional characters. It was in another world from that in which men will die for a kiss, and touching hands lights fires that burn up lives—the world of romance, the world of passionately beautiful things. “Only it is much too late for you to be out alone. It was the size of my palm.
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