" "I see," remarked Kneebone. . The houses they flitted to and from were glutted with hangers-on, servant/mistresses, and errant prostitutes. How could you draw the curtain aside which hides the great and holy places of life—you, who have never loved?” “You have become French to the core,” she murmured. She refused coffee, though she knew that anyhow she was doomed to a sleepless night. Somehow to-night—I don’t know. Impressionable, lonely, a deal beyond his analytical reach, the girl might let her sympathies go beyond those of the nurse. She doesn't love you; she hasn't the least idea what it means beyond what she has read in novels. But here was new music, tender and kindly and whimsical, that first roved to and fro in the mind and then cuddled up in the heart.
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