Blank it was, except for a gate near the bridgehead. “You have forgotten. Far away there was the one woman for this boy of mine—some human being who would understand the dear fool better than all the rest of the world. A fire enveloped her, a fire which was strangely healing, filling her heart with warmth, blotting out the menace of the world. I followed, taking up hunting so that way I could track you, to make sure you would become well again. Almost the best of all. They could not have called it a fatal motor accident if he had not been dead. Ye gods! what a wilderness it is! Every one trying to get the better of every one, every one regardless of every one—it’s one of those days when every one bumps against you—every one pouring coal smoke into the air and making confusion worse confounded, motor omnibuses clattering and smelling, a horse down in the Tottenham Court Road, an old woman at the corner coughing dreadfully—all the painful sights of a great city, and here you come into it to take your chances. But that possibility had been anticipated. “I have the right of the man who loves you,” he declared.
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