He had been hard since they had taken their clothes off. With a moment of inward shame he remembered his deportment towards Anna. The oranges were of the Syrian variety, small but filled with scarlet honey. “You are very kind to think of it,” she said, “but—don’t you think perhaps—that I had better not?” He smiled indulgently. She was a clever girl, the best of her year in the High School, and she made a valiant fight for Somerville or Newnham but her father had met and argued with a Somerville girl at a friend’s dinner-table and he thought that sort of thing unsexed a woman.
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