And then, for the first time, Wood noticed a small stream of blood coursing slowly down her cheek. That did not sound like the name the young man had offered in the tower of the water-clock. And like that gospel it meant something, something different from its phrases, something elusive, and yet something that in spite of the superficial incoherence of its phrasing, was largely essentially true. She laughed a little contemptuously. He guided himself between her legs. " "Poor soul!—poor soul!" groaned Wood, brushing the tears from his vision. I felt—I felt living in a masked world. “Will you tell me what all this is about?” said Capes.
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