“And even then—” The conversation hung for a thoughtful moment. She answered in whispers, for there was the white arm of a woman in the next box peeping beyond the partition within a yard of him. Why should she trouble herself over that young fool, who was nothing to her; who, when he eventually sobered up, would not be able to recognize her, or if he did, as something phantasmagorical? Perhaps he should not apply the term "fool"; "unfortunate" might be the more accurate application. Ramage did not know. Deep verandas ran around the bungalows, with bamboo drops which were always down in the daytime, fending off the treacherous sunshine. Torment! And so Ruth discovered him. Perhaps I am still mad. Occasionally he relit his pipe.
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