CHAPTER XXIII. “It seems so unfair,” she said, “to take all you offer me and give so little in return. From time to time she would come upon a line of singular beauty or a paragraph full of haunting music; and these would send her rushing on for something that never happened. “It is very, very difficult,” she continued, looking steadfastly at the ground. ‘Get out! Out, I say! Think I want another miserable cowardly good-for-nothing wastrel on my hands? Begone! Out of my house!’ He drove them to the door, grimly satisfied when the girl’s nerve broke. Manned by a couple of watermen, who rowed with great swiftness, this wherry dashed through the current in the track of the fugitive, of whom it was evidently in pursuit, and upon whom it perceptibly gained. But once I started, Forever Fifteen seemed to fly out of me like a bat out of Hell, virtually writing itself.
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