CHAPTER XVII. She traveled through back yards and quiet side streets on her way home, careful to avoid the main thoroughfares, fraught as they were with people in cars who would recognize her person or notice her dress. ‘Étes-vous Francais?’ Her eyes, he noted, followed from himself to Hilary and back again, but she did not speak. Such an obvious ruse, but the boys and girls would defend their pride to the bitter end, the facade of study groups during rutting season. Since morning he had become fanatical; the atoms of common sense no longer functioned in the accustomed groove. Spurlock remained where he was until the sail became an infinitesimal speck in the distance. "Who isn't it like?" he asked, endeavouring to gain possession of the drawing, which, af the sound of his footstep, she crushed between her fingers. I'm not interested in him.
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