“I should imagine,” he said, shaking out a copy of The Times, “that it is your brain which is addled. ‘But do you think I can blame you for this, Marthe?’ ‘I blame myself. ” She glanced out of the window, and the distant trees were a froth of hard spring green and almond blossom. I’m talking to you now as though you had all the wisdom and charity in the world. Does that boy live in some sort of personal cave? Like, I think he might even be thinking about asking you out again! That is what I think. ‘I’m only a poor country wench, child. No; I’m going to stick to the rules. John looked at his feet bashfully.
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