“When can we be alone together?” She asked him, never loosening her grip. I hate myself!” She collapsed to the floor, sobbing. S. Gerald was conscious of that sliver of irritation again at mention of the name. He spent the remainder of the afternoon looking for a friend whom he found at last in the billiard room of one of the smaller clubs to which he belonged. To witness this girl sewing on a loose button, flopping the coat about on her knees, tickled his ironic sense of humour; and laughter bubbled into his throat. I want you. “What have you been doing since our last talk? Still cutting up rabbits and probing into things? I’ve often thought of that talk of ours—often.
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