I began to get the idea that I wasn’t making real headway. I remember when I won that Scripture-knowledge prize, having to go into the facts about Balaam’s ass. I can’t quite recall what they were, but I still retain a sort of general impression of something digging its feet in and putting its ears back and refusing to co-operate; and it seemed to me that this was what Angela was doing now. She and Balaam’s ass were, so to speak, sisters under the skin. There’s a word beginning with r——“re” something——“recal” something—No, it’s gone. But what I am driving at is that is what this Angela was showing herself.
“Silly young geezer,” I said.
She pinkened.
“I’m not a silly young geezer.”
“You are a silly young geezer. And, what’s more, you know it.”
“I don’t know anything of the kind.”
“Here you are, wrecking Tuppy’s life, wrecking Gussie’s life, all for the sake of a cheap score.”
“Well, it’s no business of yours.”
I sat on this promptly:
“No business of mine when I see two lives I used to go to school with wrecked? Ha! Besides, you know you’re potty about Tuppy.”