He was reaching wearily for some kind of buffer to his harrying conscience. “It is not possible,” he exclaimed. Romance! The romance of passing faces, of wires that carried voices and words to the far ends of the world, of tremendous mechanisms that propelled ships and trains! And, oh the beautiful books! She swiftly knelt upon the floor and once more gathered the books to her heart. Living, he knew that he would never send that letter. His manner, however, was as stern and haughty as ever, and his glances retained their accustomed fire. Holding a link into the place, which had the appearance of a deep pit, Blueskin noticed a body richly dressed. ‘Suppose you don’t know what sort of proof she was after?’ he asked.
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