Daybreak found her winding her painful way along the Harrow Road; and, in order to shorten the distance as much as possible, she took the nearest cut, and struck into the meadows on the right. But that was soon put right, and she walked out into London with a peculiar exaltation of mind, an exaltation that partook of panic and defiance, but was chiefly a sense of vast unexampled release. Young, not much older than she was: she was twenty and he was possibly twenty-four. She tried to be casual. " "Farewell, Jack," cried twenty voices. Leonardo was to me perhaps like a father, not a lover as you think.
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