When it came time to eat once again, she hid out on the beach, a remote fastness beyond the city walls, a swampy morass that everyone avoided. And at length her penultimate day in Morningside Park dawned for her. It is Anna again who stands between me and ruin. A little inn flying a Swiss flag nestles under a great rock, and there they put aside their knapsacks and lunched and rested in the mid-day shadow of the gorge and the scent of resin. In a few seconds, the shutter flew open,—then the window,—and they were in the room. For yonder went the loneliest man in all God's unhappy world. “And even then—” The conversation hung for a thoughtful moment.
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