He was ruffled, and his ears were red, no doubt from some adjacent controversy. He had hurt her. He poured a pinch of tobacco into his palm and sniffed. Monsieur Valade heaved a gusty sigh, and Gerald, with heavy diplomacy and a forced heartiness of manner, turned the subject. There were electric and ice plants, and a great store in which one could buy anything from jewsharps to gas-engines. “I haven’t a scrap—of this sort of aversion. \"Shouldn't you be in bed? You go into work at 5:30, I thought. My garden-close would be a better thing than that. She reloaded. She drifted back into the welcoming arms of sleep, feeling herself surrounded in silk.
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