"If he thinks of her," said Semingham.
"Yes—if he thinks of her."
Semingham lit a cigarette and watched the smoke curl skywards.
"Some of us are bruised," said he, "and some of us are broken."
"Not beyond cure?" Adela beseeched, touching his arm.
"God knows," said he with a shrug.
"Not beyond cure?" she said again, insisting.
"I hope not, my dear," said Tom Loring gently.
"Bruised or broken—bruised or broken!" mused Semingham, watching his smoke-rings. "But the car moves on, eh, Adela?"
"Yes, the car moves on," said she.