“That was all?”
“He hadn’t been here long when you came—”
“Oh.”
“But he told me one thing that was horrible,” she added, obedient to her instinct always to tell the complete truth to him, even about trifles which had nothing to do with their lives or their relation to each other.
“Horrible!” Androvsky said, uncrossing his legs and leaning forward in his chair.
She sat down by him. They both had their backs to the light and were in shadow.
“Yes.”
“What was it about—some crime here?”
“Oh, no! It was about that liqueur you saw on the table.”
Androvsky was sitting upon a basket chair. As she spoke it creaked under a violent movement that he made.