CHAPTER XXIII. But such is the perversity of the human that frequently thereafter he purposely crooked the part in his hair, to give her the excuse to fetch the comb. " "Graves. “Here is my card. ” “It’s an unrest—a longing—What’s that?” The waiter had intervened. All that confidence, born of irony, disappeared; and fear laid hold of him. He had never liked to be hugged, but she wondered if his corporeal needs would be made apparent by human touch. Predictably, Charvill turned on him. "Farewell!" cried Jack, embracing them. Vorsack echoed him. . He folded the garments carefully and replaced them on the chair.
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