I’d take it— forgive me if I seem a little urgent—as a sort of proof of friendliness. His voice had changed, the joy had gone out of it; and she understood that something from the past had rolled up to spoil this hour. “Don’t you know, child, that this is torture for me? What in God’s name more can you have to tell me?” Her face had become almost like a marble image. She saw her life before her robbed of all generous illusions, the wrappered life unwrappered forever, vistas of dull responses, crises of makebelieve, years of exacting mutual disregard in a misty garden of fine sentiments. . “Who are you?” She asked innocently.
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