“All right. He had nothing to guide him; for though the torches were blazing ruddily below, their gleam fell only on the side of the building. It was in her eyes—the big thing that comes but once. It had rained during the night, and the patch-work pavement was greasy with mud. That is easy. Even the abstract paintings on the wall were gray. The storm burst upon them in its fury. He flung aside all his talk of help and disinterested friendship as though it had never been even a disguise between them, as though from the first it was no more than a fancy dress they had put quite understandingly upon their relationship. It was about—a question of what I might do or might not do.
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