‘You are the one that I have met in London. Sheppard, anxiously. “I’ve got—I have to tell you this to make myself clear—a streak of ardent animal in my composition. Its parents have perished. “I don’t mind, of course, your seeing her sometimes, still there are differences— differences in social atmospheres. 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. ‘I hope I do not understand you.
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