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It is only the preposterously young who expect
a man to rhapsodise over somebody else's inamorata at such a moment. I
turned up the fur collar of my coat.
"She is good-looking," said I.
"Any idiot can see that!" he burst out impatiently. "I want to know what
opinion you formed of her."
I reflected. If I could have labelled her as the Scarlet Woman, the
Martyred Saint, the Jolly Bohemian, or the Bold Adventuress, my task
would have been easy. But I had an uncomfortable feeling that Lola
Brandt was not to be classified in so simple a fashion. I took refuge in
a negative.
"She would hardly be a success," said I, "in serious political circles."
With that I made my escape.

CHAPTER V
I wish I had not called on Lola Brandt. She disturbs me to the point
of nightmare. In a fit of dream paralysis last night I fancied myself
stalked by a panther, which in the act of springing turned into Lola
Brandt. What she would have done I know not, for I awoke; but I have
a haunting sensation that she was about to devour me.


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