He was nearly wincing. “What would you like to hear? Some J. Melusine made no reply. Then he sat down again in a chair and said that people who wrote novels ought to be strung up. ‘I know you, Gerald. 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. There was a pause, while the steel grey eyes sliced at her. Shrinking involuntarily back into the farthest corner of the seat, Jack buried his face in his hands.
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