Her pat answer to all inquiries was, “I let my sister Shari make me over,” while she kept from staring at her own reflection in the shiny shoes past her bare knees. She handled it half fearfully, and set it carefully down again. And Ritter’s, too, was very amusing and foreign and discreet; a little rambling room with a number of small tables, with red electric light shades and flowers. ‘You would read my mind?’ Gerald was pretty certain he already had, but he did not say so. For the first time, perhaps, in his life, he repented of his brutality. That did not sound like the name the young man had offered in the tower of the water-clock. Ennison’s signet-ring had cut nearly to the bone. Her sense of humour could not wholly resist his abnormal gravity.
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