But in a moment she believed she understood. END OF THE SECOND EPOCH. “You call yourself an artist— but you have no temperament. He pointed to where the lights still burned in Anna’s windows. “Thanks, Cathy. They shall hear of me no more. Everything in his favour—the luck of the gods! The only white men were miles down the coast. . And stony broke. And nothing to tell her where to begin. He deserves none. ” “Thanks to me,” he repeated, puzzled. The servants had left the room. Against the sinister, the threatening, monstrous inhumanity of the limitless city, there was nothing now but this supreme, ugly fact of a pursuit— the pursuit of the undesired, persistent male.
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