“It is not an easy matter,” he said, “for me to offer you an altogether adequate explanation. You’re a piss-poor liar, John. I’ve never had a homemade Thanksgiving meal like that. Where can we sit down and talk?” He led her across the room towards a window recess, in which a tall, fair young man was seated with an evening paper in his hand. The Closing Scene 472 EPOCH THE FIRST. At Morningside Park I feel as though all my growing up was presently to stop, as though I was being shut in from the light of life, and, as they say in botany, etiolated. Ruth hugged the envelope and McClintock, with the end of a burnt match, drew a cabalistic sign. Certain reserves went down on both sides. Pity you aren’t under my command. ‘Your wife?’ ‘My wife,’ he repeated, rising also, his smile mocking her. Pole coolies came joggling along with bobbing blocks of jade—white jade, splashed and veined with translucent emerald green.
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