"Are you his ghost, then?" "No—no," answered Jack. If he died, here in this hotel, who would care? Or if she died, who would care? A queer desire blossomed in her heart: to go to him, urge him to see the folly of trying to forget. A wooden balcony in one of the adjoining houses was thronged with ladies, all of whom appeared to take a lively interest in the scene, and to be full of commiseration for the criminal, not, perhaps, unmixed with admiration of his appearance. ‘I’ll get the key,’ said Roding, turning abruptly. She stood on the mat instead, and looked down on him. Oh, I grew fond of you as the years went by.
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