If not, I have plenty to think about,” she answered, leaning back in her chair, and watching the smoke from her own cigarette curl upwards. Certainly I never met him. “Won’t you sit down,” she said, “and tell me what you want to say?” Her voice was flat and faint. But underneath this tolerance there is always the vague hope that your manhood will someday reassert itself. He was profoundly stirred. I meant to give him a drubbing. In the subdued light she could not tell whether he was asleep or awake. I was once a disciple of Saint Peter myself, and speak from experience. The two young fools laughed until they cried.
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