His lips were dry and he licked them.
If he met any one good--were there any good people left in the world or did they all live in white apartment-houses now?
Was every one followed in the moonlight?
But if he met some one good who'd know what he meant and hear this damned scuffle...

then the scuffling grew suddenly nearer, and a black cloud settled over the moon.

When again the pale sheen skimmed the cornices, it was almost beside him, and Amory thought he heard a quiet breathing.

Suddenly he realized that the footsteps were not behind, had never been behind, they were ahead and he was not eluding but following...

following.