132 “I thought you wanted me—you told me so when we kissed in the park!” He cried. It was still raining heavily, and profoundly dark. He lit a cigarette and loitered about. Sordid; but that was not Ruth's term for it; she had no precise commentary to offer. She entered the front hall, formerly magnificent, now faded and dusty, the old wood table waiting for guests who would never come. Much more temperate; the discreet and joyless love of a virtuous, reluctant, condescending wife. “But if my manner tells! I cannot help it if that shows.
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