Through it all Spurlock maintained a gaiety which deceived them completely. She moaned as she touched him. Her little bedsitting-room was like a lair, and she went out from it into this vast, dun world, with its smoke-gray houses, its glaring streets of shops, its dark streets of homes, its orange-lit windows, under skies of dull copper or muddy gray or black, much as an animal goes out to seek food. “Miss Pellissier,” he said, “don’t!” “Why not?” she asked, smiling. I do not care in the least. Consternation gripped him. She was to be handed over with her dowry of three thousand Florins, plus her pet bird, six chickens, her mother’s fine linens, a small book of poetry. He seemed to charge her with the ruin of their situation. It ceased to be the symbol of liberty and a remote and quite abstracted person, and became suddenly and very disagreeably the token of a large and portentous body visible and tangible. ‘Then let her keep her Frenchified titles to herself. ‘It’s a pretty name. I’ve got no feminine class feeling. They walked across a moat of pea gravel that crunched like noisy cereal under their feet. “I wonder,” he said, “if women do know things by instinct? I have my doubts about feminine instinct.
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