While this was taking place, another and more serious interruption occurred. The entire city seemed to exist for beauty and art alone. They either ran to see or ran for shelter. “Too late, my dear girl,” she exclaimed. That’s what I mean. Let me bind you up, and then you can attend to her. At the same time,” she added, in a suddenly altered tone, “it isn’t anything whatever to do with you, is it?” “Why not?” he answered. Suddenly he burst into wild laughter; but equally as suddenly something strangled the sound in his throat. So, instead, they talked of dancing and what it might mean in a human life. Moving back to the corner again, she ran a hand back over the leather-bound books—which, she realised, were not books at all.
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