A home MAY be a sort of cage, but still—it’s a home. She began at once a hasty readjustment of her hair, while Ramage parleyed with inaudible interrogations. She stopped abruptly, and looked in a flower-shop window. She walked for a mile or more recklessly, close veiled, with swift level footsteps, though her brain was in a whirl and a horrible faintness all the time hovered about her. Love lives on a higher plane. But they would not be denied. She liked to do it for Cathy Beck, so that she could relax after waitressing all day at the Big Apple with a homemade meal. Your purposes are defeated. The first time, I overlooked the offence; but the second time, when I had planned to break open the house of his master, the fellow who visited you to-night,—Wood, the carpenter of Wych Street,—he betrayed me.
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