And Ritter’s, too, was very amusing and foreign and discreet; a little rambling room with a number of small tables, with red electric light shades and flowers. Something namelessly abhorrent in the eyes of those men…! She knew what arms were for—to fold and embrace and to hold one tightly; but why men wished to kiss women was still a profound mystery. This at once thrilled her and worried her. The evening breeze came; the bamboo shades on the veranda clicked and rasped; the loose edges of the manuscript curled. He had promised her some books, for she had voiced her hunger for stories. The horror of those few minutes was still with her. Some automaton within her produced in a quite unfamiliar voice the remark, “They’re playing football.
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