"What of that," rejoined Jonathan. Yet in some hidden corner was a vein of sentiment, of which for the first time in his later life he was now unexpectedly aware. All through that brief but measureless space of time during which wonder kept him silent, as fear did her, she cowered there, a limp helpless object. She had found a couple of articles about him over the years, blurbs about the opening of a theater that mentioned him. His horse, which had apparently gone to sleep, preferred to remain where he was. To escape one phase of loneliness she had plunged into another, so vast that her courage sometimes faltered.
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