In her little sitting-room she turned on the electric light and looked around half fearfully. Day after day—five, to be exact—she had returned to Morgan's; and each time the man would understand what had drawn her, and with a kindly smile would sit down at the piano and play. The autumn rain had made every surface tacky, the wet seats of painted red picnic tables were avoided. "But never mind who, or what I am. Spurling; "they're both here. Jonathan Wild!" he added, in a loud voice, "I command you to release your prisoner. In the afternoon my brain and fingers leap to their work because you have been with me. You see, I—I am a woman worshipper. I thought that you loved Paris and your work so much.
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