It was his redemption, his ticket out of hell—that blue-serge coat. A message was dispatched from Florence that she was to again receive her future husband. Ah Cum was more or less familiar with alcoholic types. He conveyed not only his sense of the extreme want of correctitude in their unsanctioned meetings, but also that, so far as he was concerned, this irregularity mattered not at all, that he had flung—and kept on flinging—such considerations to the wind. She cried out with the pain of it. Come and help me pack. ‘Even the nuns they say I am like a devil. But at least it gave her more time. Imbecile.
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