"I cannot describe it. I read a child's story once about a Kicker. It was described as a big, round thing with feet pointing in every direction. One didn't stand a chance when the Kicker got after him. The city seems like that to me. The round thing is full of noise, noise, noise; it just hurls itself along on its thousands of feet. I do run when I get thinking of it."
Norval leaned his head back with a delighted chuckle.
"Law," he asked presently, "does Miss Walden ever remind you of any one?"
Law looked at the red wig.
"No," he said contemplatively, "she doesn't."
A week after that, it was a warm, humid day, the windows of the studio were open.
"I suppose you'll go away when summer comes?" Norval asked.
"And you?" Donelle laid down her book.
"No. I'll stay on here. I mean to get a man to look after me. I'm going to send Law on an errand."
"I wish," Donelle's eyes were filled with the yellow glow so like sunlight. "I wish, Mr. Norval, that you would try to walk. Your masseur says you are better."