’ Joan sniffed. ’ I wanted, as I have never wanted before, to take you up, to make you mine, to carry you off and set you apart from all the strain and turmoil of life. Her father was right: Ruth must never know. “Why shouldn’t one face the facts of one’s self?” She stood up. Look at these walls. As she raised it, its lower portion fell apart into two baggy crimson masses. ’ She was too distressed to bear this. But what I want to get at is this. The man who sat behind a pigeon-hole, and regulated the comings and goings, was for a moment absent.
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