The little pucker in her brows became more perceptible. "As sure as one reasonably can be. “You might at least,” she murmured, “have invented a more romantic reason. She could feel her body rebel against her actions, convulsing, so she forced herself to think of her mother in Heaven, her mother's beautiful face, the sun dancing across the rivers of her home. “I’ve got—I have to tell you this to make myself clear—a streak of ardent animal in my composition. "I have nearly done," replied the stranger. “What are you doing here? How dare you come to my rooms!” The man stepped into the middle of the room. Are you going to write a novel?” “Not I,” she answered gaily. At last his voice came to release her tension. I wanted to speak to you first.
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