His attitude toward her was purely intellectual, free of any sentimentality, utterly selfish. She could not look at him through an interval that seemed to her a vast gulf of time. "Oh, yes!—for always!" He took her hands and pressed them upon his thrumming heart; and in this attitude they remained for some time. Charcoal, you may bring in the boy. Gracious, there’s the gong. “I am getting plain,” she said, with a little shudder. I suppose that’s the gist of the whole thing. The Widgett mental furniture was perhaps worn and shabby, but there it was before you, undisguised, fading visibly in an almost pitiless sunlight. Sure, I lose one occasionally—if he stays in New York. He would never be able to compose upon it, but it would serve to produce the finished work.
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