"I have a token to deliver to you," continued the stranger, addressing her. In the northwest angle, there was a small pen for female offenders, and, on the south, a more commodious enclosure appropriated to the master-debtors and strangers. He sat down beside her and stroked her hair. She fought a compulsive urge to yank his shirt free. She stepped into his arms. The uncanny directness of those gray eyes, the absence of diffidence, the beauty of the face in profile (full, it seemed a little too broad to make for perfect beauty), the mellow voice that came full and free, without hesitance, all combined to mark her as the most unusual young woman he had ever met. “I’d rather go as a chorus-girl,” she said. Beneath that tree let us lie. Anything that drew attention to her must be avoided. That is why I have dyed my hair, that is why I have abandoned my rôle of ingenuèe and altered my whole style of dress.
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