Wood's anxiety to please her distinguished guests speedily displayed itself in a very plentiful, if not very dainty repast. She closed her eyes more vividly to recall some line which had carried the blot. A familiar ache of wanting made itself more insistent in her belly. They had a universe to talk about—two universes. You would rather live like the scum of the earth, in that little brown hovel you call a house, in bourgeois paradise. I will tell you our plans on the way to the station. He turned to her and pinned her against the headrest with his kisses. “I mean to,” she replied. She let out a delighted laugh. Presently McClintock came in. Who? Could it be Gerald? Quickly, she looked back at Gosse’s face, and found him frowning.
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