“The plain common-sense of the case,” he said, “is that we can’t possibly be lovers in the ordinary sense. Who but you would have dreamed of giving the boy such a name? Why, it's the name of a river, not a Christian. That's the way it goes. But it was only when that damned scoundrel nearly spitted you in the chapel—’ He broke off and, to her intense satisfaction she saw he was not as much in command of himself as he would have her believe. “I love some one else. ” “Why not?” “You see, if I do go home my father objects to the College, and as for typing —” “Don’t go home. “And all the rest of it perhaps is a song. I feel a mixture of beast and uncle. The taste of his sweat was intoxicating, like sweet brandy, like blood.
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