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“What a beautiful mare’s nest!” she exclaimed. “I’m inclined to think, Stanley, myself that as a matter of fact it was the expurgated Romeo and Juliet did the mischief. The inn was a military haunt. Die game. Charvill’s fury was burning out. But he was now too deeply moved to trace a certain unsatisfactoriness to its source in a mixture of metaphors. The twenty pounds burned with avidity. That he should pay forty pounds to help this girl who preferred another man was no less in his eyes than a fraud and mockery that made her denial a maddening and outrageous disgrace to him. Her sense of humour could not wholly resist his abnormal gravity. \"I'm not hungry either, I'm still worked up from that game. ” He was dismissed, and he understood it.
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