” She pulled a small blue box out of the pocket of her hoodie. They went on talking in the train—it seemed to her father a slight want of deference to him—and he listened and pretended to read the Times. “Do I understand you then to refuse my offer?” he asked Anna. After all, if one could wait twenty years or more in between bouts of lovemaking, one could certainly wait a few more days. The material cares of life hang about your neck like a millstone. As the Wastrel played, Spurlock knew that the man saw the inevitable end—death by drink; saw the glory of the things he had thrown away, the past, once so full of promise. And all the talk of the Miniver people and the Widgett people seemed always to be like a ship in adverse weather on the lee shore of love.
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