Chapter VI A QUESTION OF IDENTIFICATION The little man with the closely-cropped beard and hair looked at her keenly through his gold eye-glasses. This world over here! Everything's upsidedown or back-end-to. She lay still for a long time, and her mind resumed at a more tolerable pace. But that was all over. “Let us walk across the Park at least,” he said to Ann Veronica. “Do you know,” she said, “that every one is remarking how ill you look. His invalid wife and her money had been only the thin thread that held his life together; beaded on that permanent relation had been an inter-weaving series of other feminine experiences, disturbing, absorbing, interesting, memorable affairs. “I won’t go home,” she said; “I won’t!” and she evaded the clutch of the fatherly policeman and tried to thrust herself past him in the direction of that big portal.
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