He was yellow and coarse of hair; flea-bitten, too; and even as he smiled at Ruth and wagged his stumpy tail, he was forced to turn savagely upon one of these disturbers who had no sense of the fitness of things. It had been a big event for teens across town. He dressed mechanically; so many moves this way, so many moves that. The poor boy, whose hands were pinioned behind him, looked very pale, but neither trembled, nor exhibited any other symptom of alarm. Women are not in the world in the same sense that men are—fighting individuals in a scramble. And yet—he thought of the supper party where he had met Annabel Pellissier, the stories about her, his own few minutes’ whispered lovemaking! He was a self-contained young man, but his cheeks grew hot at the thought of the things which it had seemed quite natural to say to her then, but which he knew very well would have been instantly resented by the girl whom he had just left. When they made love, he seemed to shift into the realm of possessiveness. He felt he was human wisdom prudentially interpolated. “Yet it is my last evening, and I think —if you are sure that you would like to have me—that I will risk it.
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