The great gray boles of the palms reminded him of some fabulous Grecian temple. I can’t rest or work or settle down to anything while things are like this between you and me. Go in, go in, Melusine prayed, hoping desperately that he would not change his mind and take another route. “The plain common-sense of the case,” he said, “is that we can’t possibly be lovers in the ordinary sense. Be a sport, and pile it all on me!" He went to bed. Sensing his discomfort, she stood up and brushed lint off of the hem of her gray miniskirt.
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