You’d think he wanted to meet the wretch again. She was aware of people—her aunt, her father, her fellow-students, friends, and neighbors— moving about outside this glowing secret, very much as an actor is aware of the dim audience beyond the barrier of the footlights. What they do with him afterward is off my ticket, no concern of James Boyle; they can lock him up or let him go. At any rate, here I am, and here I shall be, twenty thousand feet above all your poison-reeking cities, up where God’s wind comes fresh from heaven, very near indeed to the untrodden snows. “I suppose some one makes a bit on the food,” she said.
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