Let me lie in Willesden churchyard. Perhaps this was the real turning point: the hour in which the disordered mind began permanently to readjust itself. The thing rankled in her mind night and day. He wore a threecornered hat, a sandy-coloured scratch wig, and had a thick woollen wrapper folded round his throat. Why should he stare at her in this fashion?—for all the world as if she had pointed a pistol at his head? CHAPTER III He had said it, spoken it like that … his own name! After all these weeks of trying to obliterate even the memory of it!… to have given it to this girl without her asking! The thought of peril cleared a space in the alcoholic fog. But she could tell by the dullness of his eyes that he saw only some inner vision. "If you'll write them, I'll illustrate them," observed Hogarth. For you know that I have made up my mind to dig a little way into life single-handed.
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