‘Laisse-moi,’ she threw at him, her brief attack of sobs already ended, although the trace of tears on her cheeks bore witness to its sincerity. I wanted to, that day in the Zoo. Very well. I can be that man, the one I know you want. This was Blueskin, who burst through the trees, and sword in hand assaulted the thief-taker. Imagine her, putting herself to all this delay and inconvenience for a young wastrel she did not know and who, the moment he got on his feet, would doubtless pass out of her life without so much as Thank you! And it was ten to one that she would not comprehend the ingratitude. She did not speak to John in the week of school left after the Prom. That, I think, is manifest.
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