"How awkward."
Nan did not hear him. One of the laborers had looked up. For a moment his eyes were black, shining into hers. O, but he can't really see me from down there. The face was lean brown between curly black hair and an unshaven chin. With an eager child's smile he raised a hand. As the hand fell she had a glimpse of a dark chest scooped in taut muscles towards the belly under his open blue shirt. He was again a blue back bending and straightening with the three other backs. Crazy fires danced through her.
"Yes, I had to go round to Gertrude Fagan's to wash." There was a dead veil between her and Fanshaw.
"And how is the fiery Gertrude?"
"Very well."
"The last time I met that lady on the street she cut me dead ... I suppose she's too taken up with the world beyond to notice us terrestrial beings."
"Nonsense, Fanshaw, Gertrude's an awfully nice person ... You must have done something she didn't like. She's very easily offended."
"Do the spooks continue to flourish?"
"You mean her automatic writing. Well, what of it? You shouldn't scoff at things you don't understand."
"That's better than being awed by them, Nan."