175 “Before you tell me the whole story,” she emphasized the penultimate word, “just let me do something for you. ’ ‘I don’t, as a matter of fact,’ Gerald said decidedly, a frown creasing his brow. “When did you start?” She said between puffs. Montague Hill. Her cogitations were dissipated by a knock on the door. He felt like a boy again, the taste for adventures was keen upon his palate, the whole undiscovered world of rhythmical things, of love and poetry and passion seemed again to him a real and actual place, and he himself an adventurer upon the threshold. He felt his heart beat faster and faster—his self-restraint slipping away. And, lastly, to the Seven Cities o' Refuge, in the New Mint. To-morrow morning I shall have made up my mind what to do.
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