“Well?” “I don’t care a rap for all these things. ’ He strode to the fireplace behind the leather-topped desk and addressed his own reflection in the mirror, wagging an admonitory finger in his own face. If you were a poet in need of rhymes, you had only to turn to a certain page. Her mind went on generalizing. ‘I did not send you a card because in the normal way of things you rarely attend such affairs. They talked for the better part of an hour, and at last walked together to the junction of highroad and the bridle-path. But all normal humans smelled wonderful to her, even dirty ones. . There was the cottage she had inhabited for so many years,—in those fields she had rambled,—at that church she had prayed. I always say that it’s poverty before everything that makes a girl skip the line. She looked at me as though I were some unclean thing, as though my soul were weighted with every sin in the calendar.
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