The man lingered. Lucy went downstairs to prepare the hot cocoa that would be the last hot drink of the season, ruefully spiking the liquid with Nytol, just one tablet dissolved in a little warm water. Meanwhile, the excitement of the chase had in some degree subsided. She found herself again in the presence of some element in life about which she had been trained not to think, about which she was perhaps instinctively indisposed to think; something which jarred, in spite of all her mental resistance, with all her preconceptions of a clean and courageous girl walking out from Morningside Park as one walks out of a cell into a free and spacious world. We think the whole thing is straight and noble at bottom, and it isn’t. ‘Imbecile. Lonesomeness isn't my worry. Spurlock.
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