The students passed Juicy Fruit sticks and notes back and forth, bartering various forms of social currency. “What do you mean, hanging round with my wife?” he answered fiercely. He sent a speculative glance at the immobile yellow face. ‘I’m damned if I see what you have to complain of,’ uttered Charvill, a faintly bewildered note underlying his irascibility. She looked, Dorothée said, just as she always looks. He rose deliberately to his feet and confronted them. She possessed what he affected to despise, but secretly worshipped—the innate charm of breeding. We smirk, and we’re a bit—furtive.
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