" Ruth turned back toward the stairs. “What ought you to do?” He began to produce his knowledge of the world for her benefit, jerkily and allusively, and with a strong, rank flavor of “savoir faire. “How would you know?” Michelle’s interest was piqued. “Don’t you think I ought to?” she asked, very submissively. ‘Ask him. Fresh ground, no chicory, and all the rest of it. That held his thought as the magnet holds the needle, inescapably. She was very pale, but she reminded him more at that minute than at any time of “Alcide” as he had first known her. He kept at it even on those nights when the monsoon began to break with heavy storms and he had to weight down with stones everything on his table. Fancy, as they say hereabouts!" What had aroused this open-air monologue was a small tin sign in a window. It is a lovely little appendage to the mother who smiles over it, and it does things quaintly like her, gestures with her very gestures.
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