“Why not? It might amuse me. But suppose I go?” “Now, Veronica! No, no. A deadlock. Against the sinister, the threatening, monstrous inhumanity of the limitless city, there was nothing now but this supreme, ugly fact of a pursuit— the pursuit of the undesired, persistent male. But for the next few days he avoided Cheveney like the plague. “It does not appear to me,” he said, stiffly, “to be an affair for jests. On a stool eight feet high sat a small boy in a faded blue cotton, his face like that of young Buddha.
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