It was cramped even at the end of the passage. He drew a little breath and stepped back. She lunched at a creamery in Great Portland Street, and as the day was full of wintry sunshine, spent the rest of the lunch-hour in a drowsy gloom, which she imagined to be thought upon the problems of her position, on a seat in Regent’s Park. At length, when he saw no escape from the inevitable, he took the four title pages from the manuscripts and typed new ones, substituting Taber for Spurlock. He awoke, strangely content. She had never let off a pistol in her life. He spent the evening telling her stories of Greece as she sat in front of a roaring fire. He drew her close up to him with a strong, steady pull.
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