He was conscious of a peculiar pleasure in sitting there and thinking of those few hours which already were becoming to assume a definite importance in his mind—a place curiously apart from those dry-as-dust images which had become the gods of his prosaic life. There was a trader—a man who bought copra and pearls. “Tell me more about this Martin Chen. ” He said. Occasionally the canvas snapped as the wind veered slightly. He would ask her to come to dinner with him in some little Italian or semiBohemian restaurant in the district toward Soho, or in one of the more stylish and magnificent establishments about Piccadilly Circus, and for the most part she did not care to refuse. They stopped talking, except to each other. "I imagine I must have a hundred rolls—all the old fellows.
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