Rhea writhed and scuttled about like a crab. " Downstairs he sought the hotel manager. She was aware of it now as if it were a voice shouting outside a house, shouting passionate verities in a hot sunlight, a voice that cries while people talk insincerely in a darkened room and pretend not to hear. What a pity! But why? There was no way over this puzzle, nor under it, nor around it: that men should drink, knowing the inevitable payment. “Yes, I will go,” she promised, with a queer little smile. In no way could he be said to contribute to the gaiety of the little party. Ann Veronica could at the same time ask herself what this queer old gentleman could have meant by speaking to her, and know—know in general terms, at least—what that accosting signified.
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