One’s sense of proportion, battered out of all shape in the daily life of cities, reasserts itself. ’ Gerald frowned. “When did you get home last night, Lucy?” Cathy interrogated through a yawn. ” She said to him. A forgotten island beyond the ship lanes, where that grim Hand would falter and move blindly in its search for him! From what he had read, there wouldn't be much to do; and in the idle hours he could write. No blowzy barmaids for him to-day: an American bar-keep to whom he could tell his troubles and receive the proper meed of sympathy.
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