"I have him!" cried a voice in triumph. “Yes,” he said, “I shall come. It ought never to have begun. Her little bedsitting-room was like a lair, and she went out from it into this vast, dun world, with its smoke-gray houses, its glaring streets of shops, its dark streets of homes, its orange-lit windows, under skies of dull copper or muddy gray or black, much as an animal goes out to seek food. Sorrow lay in the back of his mind as he withdrew, but he put it aside. Gerald’s voice came back to her, saying that she could not hope to outwit “a man who means business”. No, this was not reasonable. Cheveney walked away with a shrug of the shoulders. There was a fourth story; but he never told either Ruth or McClintock about this.
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