She felt she was bound in honor to tell the whole affair to Manning sooner or later. The call of youth to youth, and we name it love for want of something better: a glamorous, evanescent thing "like snow upon the desert's dusty face, lighting a little hour or two, was gone. The knife is at my breast. ‘What in the world is that?’ demanded Miss Froxfield. He used to live in a boarding-house in Russell Square. It was a castoff of Shari’s from her brief obsession with sewing. The Plague raced through the city and the Palazzo, consuming it like fire. Love stories! It was of negligible importance that these books were bound in paper; Romance lay unalterably within. Shamefaced curiosities began to come back into her mind, thinly disguised as literature and art.
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