Spurling, who did not dare to exhibit her satisfaction otherwise than by privately pinching the arm of her expected husband. “It’s unforgivable of me to call, Miss Stanley,” he said, shaking hands in a peculiar, high, fashionable manner; “but you know you said we might be friends. \"May I come in?\" His bravado was increasing. He seemed so clean anyway, his fair 215 skin, his light brown hair, there almost seemed to be no point. . . ’ ‘I think you—’ He broke off abruptly, astonished at what he had been about to say. The simile started a laugh in his throat. ‘You are there. His idea was to get behind this sustained listlessness.
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