" "So you think," muttered Jack, between his ground teeth. The tree-lined streets were silent except for the sporadic revving of glass packs down Church Avenue. His eyes looked a little bloodshot to her; his face had lost something of its ruddy freshness. She looked at him gravely and squinted. "What shall I say? Shall I tell you, or shall I leave you in the dark—as I must always leave her? What shall I say except that I am accursed of men? Yes; I have loved something—her mother. Her glasses moved quickly as her glance travelled from face to face. The next minute, I contrived, without either of 'em perceiving me, to convey it into my own pocket. “And that only brings me up to about sixty-five! “A glittering wilderness of time That to the sunset reaches No keel as yet its waves has ploughed Or gritted on its beaches.
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