Jonathan shook his head. It was long and narrow, a well-lit, wellventilated, quiet gallery of small tables and sinks, pervaded by a thin smell of methylated spirit and of a mitigated and sterilized organic decay. “I remember when you walked me home. It slipped out—as did that “she”. Old Bethlehem, or Bedlam,—every trace of which has been swept away, and the hospital for lunatics removed to Saint George's Field,—was a vast and magnificent structure. Always the other things remained. But for a long time, anyhow, we lovers have to be as if we were no more than friends.
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