He could scarcely blame her. She became as The Tigress, a free thing. Quite right. His conscience, however, was entirely another affair. His pale and boyish waist was nearly as slim as her own. This is clear over my head. Jack tried it, and found it locked. There could not, he decided, possibly be two girls so much alike. ‘That is good. She threw out a hand to stop herself from cannoning into them and, losing balance, tripped over her own petticoats and fell to the carpeted floor, her hat falling off as she did so. She spent the morning up to ten in writing a series of unsuccessful letters to Ramage, which she tore up unfinished; and finally she desisted and put on her jacket and went out into the lamp-lit obscurity and slimy streets.
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