“He is addressing a meeting of his constituents somewhere,” Annabel answered. Loving was self-forgetfulness, pure delighting in another human being. Drummond took up a cigarette and lit it. " He drew down the lamp and blew it out, and followed her into the night, more lovely than he had ever imagined night to be. Ruth was inflammable; she would always be flaring up swiftly, in pity, in tenderness, in anger; she would always be answering impulses, without seeking to weigh or to analyse them. And Pottiswick, of course. The crash was tremendous. Single pearls— Lord knows where they come from!—are always turning up, some of them of fine lustre; but I never set eyes on them. Clothes. That would be myself, or if she lived, Mary’s daughter. He could not tell by the look of her whether she was glad or sorry that presently she would be free.
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