” “Ay,” he repeated, looking away from her. . “We have a small studio,” she murmured, “in the Rue de St. Ann Veronica could at the same time ask herself what this queer old gentleman could have meant by speaking to her, and know—know in general terms, at least—what that accosting signified. Ramage, that iron-gray man of the world, appeared dressed in a bowler hat and a suit of hard gray, astride of a black horse. She dropped a flower—it’s in my pocket-book now. She said that in the note. It wasn't worth while to invest imaginatively a man with evil projects simply because he was physically ugly. “Can you spare me forty pounds?” she said.
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