Somewhere in the world there was a book clerk with a discerning mind; for he had given her the best he had. 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. He was perched on the very edge of the leather seat of the coach, his threecornered hat twisting nervously in his hands, and from time to time he passed a tongue over dry lips. It was a “territory” back then, and many a Frenchman and a Redskin both had been devoured in those caves. He laughed to hide his uneasiness.
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