The oblique ruddy lighting distorted them oddly, made queer bars and patches of shadow upon their clothes. He was always tenderly courteous; he answered her ordinary questions readily and her extraordinary ones patiently; he always rose when she entered or left the room. She plucked at the knots of her racket and heard him to the end, then spoke in a restrained undertone. Spurlock (himself verging upon the hysterical) welcomed the diversion. The one problem was that it didn’t fly. She returned home through a world that was as roseate as it had been gray overnight.
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