CHAPTER IV

WHICH DESCRIBETH A SMITING OF FISTS Though the shadows of evening were all about him yet his own particular shadow of stark horror and bitter remorse had left him—for the time being, since in his mind, just now, was no thought of self, for Dallas was dreaming of better things: Not of her deep, grave eyes; nor her freckled nose that, being neither Greek nor Roman, was yet of shape the exact perfection or (as he phrased it) absolutely “It”; nor of her ruddy lips whose habitual wistful droop seemed but to enhance the …