o sense of fas least, are better-mannered: tailors ernal drab.  of course, you his, soon.

    I try to imagine myself in a tailors surn and, like  Sue. Sc I take to be satisfaction, t about tempt to pull from  me go? And,  care to be smot you take a deligormenting me.

    c I may not en ttention ty rapidly, after t.

    time s me go, in order to cup  a cigarette and lig. I look again at Sue. tronger, and t and hem. Behind her, her cloak billows like a sail.

    Is s? asks Ricte.

    I turn and look ae all right.

    Souter takes my arm again, and laug ans be so spinsteris o you?

    Noto me.

    udies my profile. t? Everytaken a  come cheaply, Maud

    I walk on, in silence, aware of , I suppose, ? have you?

    No.

    You are sure?

    Quite sure.

    And yet, you still delay. ? I do not ans.  is it?

    Nothing has happened, I say.

    Nothing?

    Not w we planned for.

    And you kno be done now?

    Of course.

    Do it t like a lover. Smile, blush, grow foolish.

    Do I not do things?

    You do—t you noo my arm, damn you. ill it kill you, to feel my iff at his words. I am sorry, Maud.

    Let go of my arm, I say.

    e go furt in silence. Sue plods bet of te, tears up a sco las s. , reat for little Co  turns up a flint and  stumbles. t makes s ,  to  carriages, co drive and carry you about—

    I know w I may do.

    Do you? truly? s tem of grass to ful. I ? Being alone? Is it t? You need neve