"Are you his ghost, then?" "No—no," answered Jack. A young woman with a white badge on her arm stood and counted the sections as they entered their vans. He could not kiss Ruth because the acquired conscience—struggling on its way to limbo—made the idea repellant. For a while he threatened her. Grasping one of chairs about the little table, he drew it forward and sat astride it, in a fashion as insolent as it was unexpected. Here was the place behind the shed where she had used to hide from Roddy’s persecutions, and here the border of herbaceous perennials under whose stems was fairyland. I feel years younger, a man again. “Is this hansom for me?” she said. She made up her mind in the train home that it should be a decisive crisis. “He spends hours of every day on the pavement below,” Anna answered calmly.
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