“Whither away?” he said, very distinctly in a curiously wheedling voice. But, by Jove! it’s going to make our loving a fiercely abstract thing. I love you. “You see the pointer?” he asked. What passed between them I cannot think—I dare not. She threw him his car keys. No matter how many books one read, each was different, as each human being was different. Particularly when it was obvious the fellow was one of these pitiful wretches weak enough to allow themselves to be ousted from their inheritances and thus obliged to come seeking succour of their neighbours. One could go to him and tell him one loved him. She tried to imagine the collective effect of the Fadden Ball; she had never seen a fancy-dress gathering in her life. And they never talked of anything at all, never discussed, never even encouraged gossip. He never said hello, as if it had become a personal taboo for him. Curiosity to see what a sing-song girl was like took possession of Ruth's thoughts.
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