He sat up in his chair as though the question had stung him. "Is it poison?" she asked. He hung precariously on the ragged edge, but he hung there. Manning, relinquishing his cup without answering her question, “when I hear you talk of earning a living, it’s as if I heard of an archangel going on the Stock Exchange—or Christ selling doves. “I thought you were coming right across the Park. You are not a tourist seeking adventure. I demand it as a right. I will see to it as I will be appointed careful watch over her. “It makes me feel,” he said, “that nothing is impossible—to have you here beside me. I, too, want to understand—to walk with my head in the light. I have a few regular patients, and I take care of them in the morning. His eyes were bright, and his voice had in it an unaccustomed timbre.
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