The only thing that was louder to her was the beating of his heart. The houses were older, the shops gloomier, and the thoroughfare narrower, it is true; but the bustle, the crowd, the street-like air was the same. The daughters, he had hoped, would be their mother’s care. She declined and finished with a few of her favorite excerpts from Scheherazade. ‘If it is that your men there are going to arrest us, then why do they not do so?’ ‘Left to myself, I’d let them,’ he replied grimly. For a few days he was able to relegate his conscience to the background. She stood among them, watching them and feeling curiously alien to them. 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.
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