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He lit a cigarette and loitered about. Earles answered, glibly. Women are made like the potter’s vessels —either for worship or contumely, and are withal fragile vessels. She had always had a wonderful ear for phrasing, even back in the days of the viol. I’m not half smart enough for the West End. Then, very awkwardly, he took a stool and placed it at the end of Ann Veronica’s table, and sat down. But I vowed that Ruth should never suffer the way I did—and do. “For your own sake, let me beg of you not to stay for a moment.
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