Unless there was some real metal in the young fool, some hidden strength with which to breast the current, Ruth would become a millstone around his neck and soon he would become to her an object of pity and contempt. The students passed Juicy Fruit sticks and notes back and forth, bartering various forms of social currency. He held her hand in his, cupped together like a pair of shells for the rest of the hour. Five minutes ago, his butler had entered the green saloon, an austere apartment, with dark forest-green wallpaper flocked with a swirling design, and heavy mahogany furniture. His face was that of a quick, intelligent-looking boy, with fine hazel eyes, and a clear olive complexion. At the gate opening upon the road leading to Dollis Hill were stationed William Morgan and John Dump. ‘Your wife?’ ‘My wife,’ he repeated, rising also, his smile mocking her.
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