I’d only have to do something about it, and that I can’t. Hardened as he may be, that would touch him. Sheila plucked it out of Lucy’s hamper with some of Lucy’s panties and brassieres, figuring that she’d help out because she was doing a load of whites anyway. He drew a little breath of relief. “I want a vote for myself,” she said. Of what use was the temporary set-back to memory, when it always returned with redoubled poignancy? Then came another thought, astonishing. He was alert, well-groomed, and yet—perhaps in contrast with the more volatile French type—there was a suggestion of weight about him, not to say heaviness. Stanley was throughout enigmatical, with an anxious eye on her husband and Alice.
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