“That,” he said, grimly, with his hand on the doorhandle, “must be your own affair, unless you choose to live at Morningside Park. ” He recognized the force, almost the passion, which trembled in her tone, and he at once abandoned the subject. She leaned forward and addressed him. A white man takes his life in his hands. They heard his footsteps descending the stone staircase, growing fainter and fainter. His stories had enchanted her, even if in some deep corner of her heart she guessed they were not entirely true. Her new husband had paid for a cadre of escorts back to Mantua.
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