She had expected a love story; and love was totally absent. Love stories! It was of negligible importance that these books were bound in paper; Romance lay unalterably within. She stood, as it were, directed doorward, with her eyes watching every movement, listening to him, repelled by him and yet dimly understanding. Of course, why not? She would be honest, anyhow! She turned her eyes to Manning. Brown engaged in the usual browbeating and complaining he reserved for sections who came in late and soloists who left tempo behind like the leftovers of a Sunday picnic. They are mine! They were sent to ‘Alcide’ not to you. C.
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