James's built for offices of the meanest description. The person, shortly afterwards ushered into the room, seemed by the imperfect light,—for the evening was advancing, and the chamber darkened by heavy drapery,—to be a middle-sized middle-aged man, of rather vulgar appearance, but with a very shrewd aspect. Borne along by the current, Darrell was instantly at the boat's side. “My God! Ann Veronica,” he said, struggling to keep his hold upon her; “my God! Tell me—tell me now—tell me you love me!” His expression was as it were rapaciously furtive. Perhaps he had lost his loved ones and was wandering over the world seeking forgetfulness. She’d prefer that I read classic literature, of course, but she only reads paperback romance novels, so she can’t exactly complain. No great lover of state or state costume at any time, he was generally, towards the close of an evening, completely in dishabille, and in this condition he now presented himself to his subjects.
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