The house was redolent with the smells of cinnamon baking and the stuffed turkey and marinated pork roast. She would not look at him, would not think of him; when her mind wavered, then she muttered to herself in the darkness so as to keep hold of her generalizations. It was horrible, but what could she do? She meant to live her own life, and he meant, with contempt and insults, to prevent her. Or else—Else it will be impossible that I can be his friend. ‘What in God’s name do you think you’re playing at?’ ‘Let me alone, man,’ Gerald muttered under his breath. “Too much sensibility and too cold a heart. At Boulogne they took train to Basle; next morning they breakfasted together in the buffet of that station, and thence they caught the Interlaken express, and so went by way of Spies to Frutigen. Michelle tossed her hair like a young colt flicking its tail. And, fearing you might not come to me, I forced my way hither, even with certainty of discomposing your friends. I believe—I believe that I must risk it. His eyes caught at hers with passionate inquiries. “Why, what is the matter with you? What do you mean?” Annabel laughed scornfully. So, at least, thought one of two persons who were seated together in a small back-parlour of the house at Dollis Hill.
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