Her hair was of the darkest brown, and finest texture; and, when unloosed, hung down to her heels. Well-balanced, sane, wasn’t I? You never heard anyone call me a madman? I’m pretty near being one now, and it’s her fault. Businesswomen in pointy-toed shoes swooned coyly in his direction, tipping their noses over their glossy magazines to admire 273 him. They were alike in one phase—loveless and lonely. Ann Veronica looked down at her fingers on the claret-colored table-cloth. Well, whenever you say, I promise to do away with the mystery. “I want to make you happy, Lucy. Paris is not the place for two young girls.