They are horrible. She saw her life before her robbed of all generous illusions, the wrappered life unwrappered forever, vistas of dull responses, crises of makebelieve, years of exacting mutual disregard in a misty garden of fine sentiments. . “There is my aunt,” she said. "But, I half suspect, of your father. ” She wanted to feast upon him badly, his passion, his youthfulness. ‘Ah, yes? To what do I pretend?’ ‘That,’ Gerald said regretfully, ‘I have not yet been able to fathom. “David,” she said, “you are not a coward, are you?” “I do not know,” he muttered. Chapter VI A QUESTION OF IDENTIFICATION The little man with the closely-cropped beard and hair looked at her keenly through his gold eye-glasses.
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