The young man entered into a lively little war of words with a yellow-haired young person near the door. Something in her voice and manner conveyed an effect of unwonted gravity to him. He felt like a boy again, the taste for adventures was keen upon his palate, the whole undiscovered world of rhythmical things, of love and poetry and passion seemed again to him a real and actual place, and he himself an adventurer upon the threshold. ‘Do you not understand that I can trust no one—no one?’ ‘That is a pity,’ Gerald said, rising to face her. If he senses fear in the touch of your hand, he'll give you trouble.
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