She loved the market, the horses trotting about, the bishops forced to be on the same road with old washer-women, the fools begging for a Florin or a ducat. . So he shut his eyes. But always this new phase in life which civilization called convention threw up barrier after barrier. He did like her, anyhow; he was always pleased to be with her. Suddenly the Wastrel took hold of the edge and flung the table aside. She was glad when he went on: “I want to be your city of refuge from every sort of bother. We are going to have this chap writing books one of these days. “Come in here a moment, will you, Blanche,” he said. I will teach you how to make that little sufficient. “I am developing ailments,” she said, meeting his questioning eyes.
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