Nice lady. And a custom had grown up of a general tea at four o’clock, under the auspices of a Miss Garvice, a tall and graceful girl of distinguished intellectual incompetence, in whom the hostess instinct seemed to be abnormally developed. She had fallen asleep on the wooden bed, uncaring of lice or bedbugs. In any event, I would not have let her escape me so easily. Somewhere she had read that it was the proper thing to do and that men liked to be alone with their tobacco. She was consumed by misery and hate. I could see his little animal brain churning away, inventing plans for me, formulating his revenge. "Would you rather be alone?" "No. John was acutely focused upon her now, just as she had wanted him to be. Ruth?" "Why the devil not? Why do you suppose she married you if she didn't love you? While you read I watched her face.
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