’ *** Martha sniffed dolefully, scrubbing at her reddened eyes with a large square of damp linen. As absurd as that you take this interest in my affairs. She laughed softly, and leaned across the table. In her case the barrier was not selfishness but the perception that her interest would be misinterpreted, naturally. It was debauching, this—a devilish art which drew such strange allurements from a face and figure almost Madonna-like in their simplicity. One post-midnight meeting, she could stand it no longer. ‘Good, good—and not before time,’ muttered Roding, glancing round again. Even then she had understood vaguely that she had touched upon some philosophy of life: that one was never lonely when alone, only in the midst of crowds.
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