Capes bore a face of infinite perplexity. “No power on earth will persuade me we’re not two rather disreputable persons. There was a Greyhound bus that she was overdue to ride. I jumped then—I was not even shaken. Kneebone assured her that he did say so; and, as a further proof of his sincerity, squeezed her hand very warmly under the table. But that other world, in spite of her resolute exclusion of it, was always looking round corners and peeping through chinks and crannies, and rustling and raiding into the order in which she chose to live, shining out of pictures at her, echoing in lyrics and music; it invaded her dreams, it wrote up broken and enigmatical sentences upon the passage walls of her mind.
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