Then she went back and mixed up the sheets in a search for particular passages. She was glad when he went on: “I want to be your city of refuge from every sort of bother. I’ll have to wait here, of course, which means you, Hilary—’ ‘Will have to do tomorrow’s patrol. ‘You are jealous!’ ‘Yes,’ he agreed simply. Fresh flowers of loveliness have budded, expanded, died. Confound this slavery of sex! I am a man! I will get this under if I am killed in doing it!” She scowled into the cold blacknesses about her. Perhaps once it had desired some other human being intolerably. He did not so much cut into this conversation as loom over it, for he was a tall, if rather studiously stooping, man.
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