Yet she held her tongue. " He laughed and pushed back his chair. “If you really are going to wait, make yourself as comfortable as you can. Her tone was hoarse with passion. For a time she promenaded the room. His invalid wife and her money had been only the thin thread that held his life together; beaded on that permanent relation had been an inter-weaving series of other feminine experiences, disturbing, absorbing, interesting, memorable affairs. “Can I bring you anything, sir—a whisky and soda, or a liqueur? You’ll excuse me, sir, but you haven’t touched your coffee. Then he sat down again in a chair and said that people who wrote novels ought to be strung up.
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