” “You weren’t rude,” she said. “What ought you to do?” He began to produce his knowledge of the world for her benefit, jerkily and allusively, and with a strong, rank flavor of “savoir faire. So I come suppliant. He told me with a coarse nervous laugh. Every care had been taken of it, as well as of himself, by the humane inmates of the house in which he had sought shelter. The rejection caught him like a slap in the face. She felt her chest trying to float up, but the blessed undertow, the dreaded reason why she was warned to never bathe in the ocean, sucked her feet down, putting the decision where it belonged, into the hands of God. I should have thought my note cleared up everything.
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