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Updated: September 14, 2025
It was just physical, she said; it was the result of the change of weather; or, at the most, it was the silence that had now fallen and the proximity of a terrified boy. She looked across at him again. He was lying back in the old green arm-chair, his eyes rather shadowed from the lamp overhead, quite still and quiet, his hands still clasping the lion bosses of his chair-arms.
A spasm of repugnance shot over the host's dark face. He heard the labored breathing of the negro in the corner, and felt the eyes of his big friend upon him. "Yes, I was not serious," he admitted slowly. Ben's long legs crossed, his hands closed on the chair-arms. "Very well, then," he said. "Tell me what there is between you and Miss Baker."
She noted with tenderness all the makeshifts: the darned chair-arms, the patent rocker covered with sleazy cretonne, the pasted strips of paper mending the birch-bark napkin-rings labeled "Papa" and "Mama." She hinted of her new enthusiasm.
"If I can get away soon go straight over to Paris...there's some one there who'd do anything... who COULD do anything...if I was free..." Mr. Spragg's hands continued to grasp his chair-arms. "Good God, Undine Marvell are you sitting there in your sane senses and talking to me of what you could do if you were FREE?"
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