“It was perhaps my fault. You notice that I have recently spent ten francs on a box of the best Russian cigarettes, and that there are roses upon my table. It makes wonderful sentences that you can repeat in the City and are good enough for Punch. The light touch of Ah Cum's hand upon her arm broke the thread of retrospective thought; and her gray eyes began to register again the things she saw. I hate children. She thought of him as always courteous and helpful, as realizing, indeed, his ideal of protection and service, as chivalrously leaving her free to live her own life, rejoicing with an infinite generosity in every detail of her irresponsive being.
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