“How’d you know it was me?” He looked conspiratorially into the room for hidden informants. ’ The sergeant’s air became positively avuncular. He could imagine it even if he could not feel it. Then perhaps it is Prudence?’ ‘Oh la la! That is not me at all. ” She was silent, and in the gloom of the dimly lit apartment he could not see her face. He buys his own clothes, chooses his own company, makes his own way of living. Somehow her walk home with him had been transmogrified into a melodramatic rejection, a slamming. And then she came out into the street, sure only of one thing—that she could not return directly to her lodgings. . It was a beautiful place that she had found, a round cave by a small stream. .
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