As Morgan Griswold emerged from the solemn-fronted cross-town block and made his way northward along the dwelling side of Central Park West, he felt, as he had foreseen he would, the overwhelming surge of his homelessness. Throughout the dragging progress of the suit, instinct had bade him shun the scene of his fool's paradise, the places still haunted by the spell of Natalie. Beyond the sphere of old associations, he could delude himself with the pretense that it was all a waking dream, the leaden ache of a persistent nightmare.
