She did not resist him, she could not. “Why can’t you tell people that you are what you are? Why all the secrecy?” She looked beyond the farmhouse. ’ ‘Get rid of the wench,’ Roding said brutally. He pulled on his pants, his yellow shirt with the ridiculous horse logo, his brown socks, and shoes. He came into the club next day, and of course we went for him thick. Then she dropped the curtain and stepped back into the room. “Who wouldn’t be for you?” The train began to move. “Nor am I going to,” she answered, smiling. She even thought that perhaps she might come to love him, in spite of that faint indefinable flavor of absurdity that pervaded his courtly bearing.
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