ToC "How do you mean to act, Sir?" inquired Trenchard, as soon as they were left alone. But I don’t want to. The cloth was removed, and Wood, drawing the table as near the window as possible—for it was getting dusk —put on his spectacles, and opened that sacred volume from which the best consolation in affliction is derived, and left the lovers—for such they may now be fairly termed—to their own conversation. He was and always would be dramatizing his emotions; perpetually he would be confounding his actual with his imaginary self. “Look at our affair,” he went on, looking up at her. Impassive by nature and training, he was conscious to-night of a strange sense of excitement, of exhilaration tempered by a dull background of disappointment. Shari draped herself lazily upon her unmade bed. “More coffee, hon?” She held her hand over the cup. She was delivered home by 11:30pm. Might we ask you if you have ever seen him, if you knew him at all before this evening?” She stood up suddenly, and turning her back to them, looked steadily out of the window. She worried for Cathy, working double shifts at the nearby family restaurant to help make ends meet.
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