He never felt any need to explain himself. "Of yourself," he replied, in a mournful tone. The lace was family lace, easily recognizable. He reappeared in street clothes, his cropped hair not even damp from the shower, fresh-faced and sweetsmelling. ” “Delusion!” he muttered, glaring at her. She was standing before a window, against the background of the rain-burdened April sky. Instead, they lived a Bohemian existence, moving from patron to patron, city to city. She hugged Lucy, who had finished eating. He stood a little anxious and fussy, bothered by the responsibility of her, entirely careless of what her life was or was likely to be, ignoring her thoughts and feelings, ignorant of every fact of importance in her life, explaining everything he could not understand in her as nonsense and perversity, concerned only with a terror of bothers and undesirable situations. It was just then that she came face to face with Nigel Ennison.
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