“Not brilliant.”
“He was formed for a soldier.”
“He had to go as the road led.”
“A young man renouncing ambition!”
“Considering what we can do best.”
“It signifies the taste for what he does.”
“Certainly that.”
Weyburn had senses to read the word “schoolmaster” in repetition behind her shut mouth. He was sharply sensible of a fall.
The task with his papers occupied him. If he had a wish, it was to sink so low in her esteem as to be spurned. A kick would have been a refreshment. Yet he was unashamed of the cause invoking it. We are instruments to the touch of certain women, and made to play strange tunes.
“Mr. Cuper flourishes?”