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Updated: June 26, 2025
He asked if he might come in and speak to her for a minute. She sat down on the edge of her bed and he sat on Gwinnie's, elbows crooked out, hands planted on wide parted knees; he leaned forward, looking at her, his face innocent and yet astute; his thick, expressionless eyes clear now and penetrating. He seemed to be fairly humming with activity left over from the excitement of the day.
But as for going out because of John, whether he went or not she would have had to go, so keen that she hated those seven weeks at Coventry, although John had been there. With every thud of the engines her impatience was appeased. And all the time she could hear Gwinnie's light, cool voice explaining to Dr.
"Do you want to stay on here?" "Rather." "Very well then, so do I. That settles it." "Get up," she said, "and come along. Gwinnie's frantic." He sat up, bowed forwards, his hands hanging loose over his knees. She stood and looked down at him, at the arch of his long, slender back dropping to the narrow hips.
She would have to wire to Gwinnie Denning to meet her at Cirencester. She wondered whether Gwinnie's mother's lumbago would last over the week-end. It was Friday. Perhaps Gwinnie had started. Perhaps there would be a wire from her at the hotel. Going on to Cirencester when you wanted to be in Stow-on-the-Wold, what was it but a cowardly retreat? Driven out of Stow-on-the-Wold by Gibson? Not she!
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