“We’ll go to a place where we can have a private room,” he said. The tree-lined streets were silent except for the sporadic revving of glass packs down Church Avenue. They were drenched with water and suds. They smelled good, but they no longer smelled like food. The man’s statement was explicit, and spoken with confidence. It was bare of any furnishings. As absurd as that you take this interest in my affairs. “Veronique!” she cried with a rising intonation, though never before had she called Ann Veronica anything but Miss Stanley, and seized her and squeezed her and kissed her with profound emotion. Unless there was some real metal in the young fool, some hidden strength with which to breast the current, Ruth would become a millstone around his neck and soon he would become to her an object of pity and contempt.
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