A sacrifice. “Not only that,” he answered. "The feeling is dead within my breast. ” They loitered under trees, they sat on mossy banks they gossiped on friendly benches, they came back to lunch at the “Star and Garter,” and talked their afternoon away in the garden that looks out upon the crescent of the river. He was six blocks away from his home, a ten story building apparently made solely of glass. The house had in fact been converted into a convent, but the fact could not be advertised, not even in the Catholic enclave that existed in this part of town. He'd have some fun with that Chinaman before the morning was out. .
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