"My hair isn't a bit dry," and she sat down on the fender with her back to the fire.
A certain spirituality had come into Bob Pillin's face. If only he could get that wheeze off: "Phyllis is my only joy!" or even: "Phyllis--do you--won't you--mayn't I?" But nothing came--nothing.
"Oh! don't breathe so loud; it's awful!"
"You were; just like Carmen when she's dreaming."
He had walked three steps towards the door, before he thought: 'What does it matter? I can stand anything from her; and walked the three steps back again.
"I suppose you realise that this may be the last time you'll see me?"
"Why? I thought you were going to take us to the theatre."
"I don't know whether your mother will--after---"