He was conscious of a peculiar pleasure in sitting there and thinking of those few hours which already were becoming to assume a definite importance in his mind—a place curiously apart from those dry-as-dust images which had become the gods of his prosaic life. That's worth something to me; for I don't mind paying for revenge. Well, that’s the situation. “I hate you because you are the Devil! Rot in Hell!” She was shocked at her own accusation, how she had savored the words. She stood, as it were, directed doorward, with her eyes watching every movement, listening to him, repelled by him and yet dimly understanding. Earles drew out his cheque book. She found it rather funny that he always wore the shirt fastidiously tucked in and never wore the ensemble without a stiff brown leather belt. E. I always fall on my feet, you know.
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