Are you going to write a novel?” “Not I,” she answered gaily. What else could one say? I left him to suppose—a registry perhaps. Just my room. “Flesh and flowers are all alike to me. ” He stood up with his legs parted in an inverted “V”, puffing up, trying to make himself look bigger. ‘I understand you have not been in England very long,’ he said in English, noting that Madame raised her fan and lowered her gaze demurely. He took her hand in his, raising it closer, and gently touched the maltreated skin. ’ ‘I am afraid that there is,’ Gerald told her evenly. He uttered one word over and over, monotonously: "Fool! … Fool!" But invariably the touch of Ruth's hand quieted him, and his head would cease to roll from side to side.
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