Mr. Corrie laughed. “That’s a strange definition of charm.”
“I didn’t say charming. I said your own.”
Mr. Corrie laughed out. “Because it’s mine it’s nice, but it is, for the same reason, not charming.”
“You’re tying me up into something I haven’t said. There’s a fallacy in what you have just said, somewhere.”
“You’ll never be tied up in anything, mademoiselle—you’ll tie other people up. But there was no fallacy.”
“No verbal fallacy,” said Miriam eagerly, “a fallacy of intention, deliberate misreading.”
“No wonder you think the sun would do me good.”
“How do you mean?”
“I’m such a miscreant.”
“Oh no, you’re not,” said Miriam comfortingly, turning round. “I don’t want you to come out”—she advanced boldly and stirred the fire. “I always like to be alone when I’m ill.”