"What for?" rejoined Quilt, evasively. Awkwardly, he closed his eyes and fumbled for a kiss. But after all, what did it matter whether she had secrets or not? To him she was not a woman but a symbol; and one did not investigate the antecedents of symbols. "I am, Charcoal. ” Chapter X THE TRAGEDY OF AN APPETITE Anna, notwithstanding her quiet clothes, a figure marvellously out of accord with her surroundings, sat before a small marble-topped table at a crowded A. The old lady’s face was stiff with anger. Loneliness—something that was almost physical: as if the vitality had been taken out of the air she breathed. " "But what, in God's name, possessed you? You have already wrecked your own life and now you've wrecked hers.
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