‘You! Have you pen and paper?’ ‘Pen and paper now, is it?’ grumbled the old man as he shuffled down the hall. He was a small, dark, reserved man, with a large inflexiblelooking convex forehead, and his wife was very pink and high-spirited, with one of those chins that pass insensibly into a full, strong neck. . He had dungarees on and a blue work shirt. “I hope you have not come for that. He had not bothered to take off his raincoat and his umbrella sat dripping on his modern ice cube of a table. The lady reseated herself, watching him expectantly. How could you draw the curtain aside which hides the great and holy places of life—you, who have never loved?” “You have become French to the core,” she murmured. ‘So now you will please to go away and leave me to my business.
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