" "No," answered the ruffian, moodily. . Her glasses moved quickly as her glance travelled from face to face. She became aware of the modelling of his ear, of the muscles of his neck and the textures of the hair that came off his brow, the soft minute curve of eyelid that she could just see beyond his brow; she perceived all these familiar objects as though they were acutely beautiful things. He had an objective now. His shirt also was unbuttoned, and disclosed a neck like that of an ox, and a chest which might have served as a model for a Hercules. His job as a painter was wearing him down acutely as he aged. At least here she was safe. “It is an annoyance, my friend,” she said, “not a tragedy. What he wanted desperately was to be alone.
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