CHAPTER THE THIRD THE MORNING OF THE CRISIS Part 1 Two days after came the day of the Crisis, the day of the Fadden Dance. "Them's catchpoles, I s'pose, Sir, arter the gemman with a writ?" he observed. Did he talk a little when you took him into the city?" "No. A slow horror was dawning in his fixed eyes. Beck, it smells wonderful in here. ‘Wait! At least tell me where I can find you. ’ ‘I think you understand me very well. You speak as one injured—as though I had been the one to take your name—as though you had been the one to make sacrifices. Unless—’ Something clicked in his mind and he stared at his friend without seeing him. Don’t, don’t say anything now, not anything. By the time he had reached the summit of this hill, he had lost all trace of them; and the ardour of the chase having in some measure subsided, he began to reproach himself for his folly, in having wandered—as he conceived—so far out of his course. He’s a salesman for AT and T, but he’s never made a lot of money. “Earning a salary!” “You’re like a Princess in Exile!” he repeated, overruling her.
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