She would always be waiting upon this boy, he mused. ‘But you do not understand, mon ami. Her little bedsitting-room was like a lair, and she went out from it into this vast, dun world, with its smoke-gray houses, its glaring streets of shops, its dark streets of homes, its orange-lit windows, under skies of dull copper or muddy gray or black, much as an animal goes out to seek food. Bring me clothing, I beg of you. "Curiosity, I suppose," returned Jack, carelessly. Still he looked hale and hearty, and the country life he led had imparted a ruddier glow to his cheek. “I love you, Ann Veronica.
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