Quite trying of him not to be there when he is wanted. They heard his footsteps descending the stone staircase, growing fainter and fainter. “I don’t see quite what your game is, Vee, but I suppose you’ve got a game on somewhere. She held her hand to the place where he had slapped her. If ever the denouement came—if ever the Hand reached him—Ruth would then understand why he had rebuffed all her tender advances. The brain tires of resistance, and when it meets again and again, incoherently active, the same phrases, the same ideas that it has already slain, exposed and dissected and buried, it becomes less and less energetic to repeat the operation. “I feared we might have a fog. Afraid there'll be a love-affair.
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