He had grabbed a tiny remote control and flew the thing around the table, landing it there and turning it off. To be alone with her, in idleness, was an intolerable thought. He had no ideas about daughters. She was like an angel with one wing. And afterwards! Sir John drew his cigar from his lips, and looked upwards where the white-lights flashed strangely amongst the deep cool green of the lime-trees. You will be my witness, Madame Joan. On the bench was set a quartern measure of gin, a crust of bread, and a slice of cheese. You can’t possibly understand!” He began a confused explanation, a perplexing contradictory apology for his urgency and wrath. Hetty, looking out of the window—she always smoked her after-breakfast cigarette at the window for the benefit of the less advanced section of Morningside Park society—and trying not to raise objections, saw Miss Stanley going down toward the shops.
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