"'Knights-errant,'" she scoffed in her quiet voice. "Don't you see all he needs is somebody to look after him?"
The Great Defender?"
"Oh, rats!'' said Ruth. "All he needs is someone to — to let him be a little idiotic but keep him solid and distinguished, which you've got to admit he is. And take you, Martin!"
Again he recognized, as he had recognized last night, that long-lingering if tender note of satire: which, like an arrow on a string, must be drawn to full arc before it is fired. Mentally, he shied back.
"Hold on, now! This is no time for discussing my imperfections!"
"You loathe being taken care of. For instance: are you hungry? You know you haven't had a bite to eat since last night?"
For some reason Martin's gorge rose sickeningly at the very thought of eating.
"Woman," he said, "if there's one thing on this earth I WILL NOT stand, it's being pestered with admonitions to eat something. Especially when I'm working. Food!" He was about to say, 'to hell with food,' when the mocking imp at the back of his brain reminded him that he also was shaky, from a fall off a roof, and not quite rational.
"You see?" smiled Ruth, turning up her palm.
"See what?"