He wore a threecornered hat, a sandy-coloured scratch wig, and had a thick woollen wrapper folded round his throat. His name was Sebastianus. Flowers, theatre boxes, carriages, the “open sesame” to the whole world of pleasure. ” She paused again. Why not? Imagine I’ve had a fit of hysteria—and that I’ve come round. Its dreariness, like the filthiness of the police cell, was a discovery for her. Still—you must learn for yourself. He knew my name, and also that I had been living in Paris, and a man doesn’t risk claiming a girl for his wife, as a rule, for nothing. ‘—and what do I do? Well, we know what I do. This was the first young man who had drawn from her something more than speculative interest.
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