The thought caused him an odd kind of pang—of pity, naturally. “Oh, Veronica!” she said, “to leave your home!” She had been weeping. He spent the evening telling her stories of Greece as she sat in front of a roaring fire. She had a bittersweet fragrance, like dusty books and honeysuckle. At the farther end of the Lodge, the floor was raised to the height of a couple of steps; whence the whole place, with the exception of the remotest corner of the angle before-mentioned, could be commanded at a single glance. . ” She side-stepped into his living room from behind a square white column.
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