He stopped short of a group of adolescent saplings and turned the ignition off. “I wonder,” she said, “why one writes him sentences like that? It’ll have to go,” she decided, “I’ve written too many already. He could not pull her soul apart now to satisfy that queer absorbing, delving thing which was his literary curiosity; he had put her outside that circle. He stooped to recover it, and his face was hidden. “You could have a talk to Miss Kitty Brett this afternoon, if you liked. The destroying angel hurried by, shrouded in his gloomiest apparel. ’ He gave the gaping Pottiswick a shove, passing him on to his junior, who was waiting patiently by the kitchen door. Ennison roused himself with an effort, took a long drink from his whisky and soda, and lit a cigarette. “I am the most foolish of men.
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