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"Who isn't it like?" he asked, endeavouring to gain possession of the drawing, which, af the sound of his footstep, she crushed between her fingers. ” Lucy added, growing weary. ’ ‘I thank you,’ Gerald said drily. “Won’t you sit down,” she said, “and tell me what you want to say?” Her voice was flat and faint. “I murdered them, John. There’s something—puppyish in a man’s usual attitude to women. She moved towards it slowly and picked it up, holding it out in front of her whilst the familiar perfume seemed to assert itself with damning insistence. A familiar figure was making his way towards them. It was like the grin of a fiend, and made my flesh creep on my bones. It’s no good hiding it any more. Ray Plote was most certainly feeling restless, what if he had left the house for the evening? She needed to eat. He hung over her—he and his loan to her and his connection with her and that terrible evening—a vague, disconcerting possibility of annoyance and exposure. "Certainly not," replied Gay. “You mean to tell me” he said, “that you have a lover? While I have been keeping you! Yes—keeping you!” This view of life he hurled at her as if it were an offensive missile.
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