She went on her way now no longer dreaming and appreciative, but disturbed and unwillingly observant behind her mask of serene contentment. "We were talking shop," said McClintock, rising. "Aw, piffle!" he said, half aloud and rather disgustedly, as he stepped out into the sunshine. Romance! The romance of passing faces, of wires that carried voices and words to the far ends of the world, of tremendous mechanisms that propelled ships and trains! And, oh the beautiful books! She swiftly knelt upon the floor and once more gathered the books to her heart. ToC London, at the period of this history, boasted only a single bridge.
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