“I know you’re cross with me for calling you at the club.”
“Oh, no! Not at all!”
“But I couldn’t wait any longer. I wanted you to know—I’ve got it on again, Rash—never to come off any more.”
He was dumb. Thirty seconds at least went by, and he had made no response.
“Aren’t you glad?”
“I—I could have been glad—if—if I’d known you were going to do it.”
“And now you know that it’s done.”
He repeated in his lifeless voice, “Yes, now I know that it’s done.”
“Well?”