‘I would read your body,’ he whispered, and lifted her fingers to his lips. You’ll need that. " With no little effort—for the right words had a way of tumbling back out of reach—he marshalled his phrases, and as he uttered them, closed his eyes to lessen the possibility of a break. She found herself again in the presence of some element in life about which she had been trained not to think, about which she was perhaps instinctively indisposed to think; something which jarred, in spite of all her mental resistance, with all her preconceptions of a clean and courageous girl walking out from Morningside Park as one walks out of a cell into a free and spacious world. They don’t catch on to discursive interests, you see, because they are more serious, they are concentrated on the central reality of life, and a little impatient of its—its outer aspects. There was a coffee equipage on the table, and some sandwiches, and the fire had been recently made up. I don't know what you have done; I don't want to know now. "Yes?" "And that when they give their word, they never break it.
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