Chapter VI A QUESTION OF IDENTIFICATION The little man with the closely-cropped beard and hair looked at her keenly through his gold eye-glasses. ” Lucy said as they walked nearer to the floodlit area of an expansive new subdivision where ground was still being broken. Winifred's features would have been pretty, for they were regular and delicately formed, if they had not been slightly marked by the small-pox;—a disorder, that sometimes spares more than it destroys, and imparts an expression to be sought for in vain in the smoothest complexion. The petals have fallen—the red petals we loved so. "We were talking shop," said McClintock, rising. What a pity! For all her ignorance of material things—the human inventions which served the physical comforts of man—how much she knew about man himself! She had seen him bereft of all those spiritual props which permit man to walk on two feet instead of four—broken, without resilience. There was no rush. \"What's that?\" Lucy asked. "If things had gone smoothly," he thought, "I should have cursed the fellow's stupidity.
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