Grace-church Street was entirely deserted, except by a few stragglers, whose curiosity got the better of their fears; or who, like the carpenter, were compelled to proceed along it. There is a place—This isn’t the place. He did not look up, so he did not know that in her other hand she held a glass of wine. “How do you feel?” she asked. McClintock laughed as he gave the letter to Ruth. Ann Veronica looked down at her fingers on the claret-colored table-cloth. “I will come—with pleasure,” she said, “if you will promise to treat me as a new acquaintance—not to refer to—Paris—at all.
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