Depend upon it, there is a place for you—waiting. That was Leonardo’s motto. “How are you, Lucy?” Martin ran to catch her in the crowded hall. She moved her hand off of his knee, deliberately slow. He was not addicted to monologue, and the only audible comment he permitted himself at first upon a universe that was evidently anything but satisfactory to him that afternoon, was one compact and entirely unassigned “Damn!” The word must have had some gratifying quality, because he repeated it. But I won't be cheated of my prize. I was afraid that I might be called upon as a witness. “We are, or rather we were, so much alike then that the portrait of either of us would have done for the other. Holcroft, we may have been mistaken.
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