As he fell, he caught at the projecting masonry. “I thought you weren’t getting along so well with your mother these days. “MY DEAR MISS STANLEY,” it began,—“I hope you will forgive my bothering you with a letter, but I have been thinking very much over our conversation at Lady Palsworthy’s, and I feel there are things I want to say to you so much that I cannot wait until we meet again. Say something. ’ His friend held it out of the way. One’s sense of proportion, battered out of all shape in the daily life of cities, reasserts itself. Spurlock mused over the previous night.
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