He glanced at Miss Klegg again, and spoke quickly and furtively, with eager eyes on Ann Veronica’s face. You would rather live like the scum of the earth, in that little brown hovel you call a house, in bourgeois paradise. Spurling was no longer allowed to visit him; he was again loaded with irons; fastened by an enormous horse-padlock to a staple in the floor; and only allowed to take repose in a chair. But when she turned her thoughts to Morningside Park she perceived the tangled skein of life was now to be further complicated by his romantic importunity. The reward is mine.
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