“I should have to think about it,” she said. “I couldn’t say now. It may seem to you Clifford doesn’t count, but he does. When you think how disabled he is.⁠ ⁠…”

“Oh damn it all! if a fellow’s going to trade on his disabilities, I might begin to say how lonely I am, and always have been, and all the rest of the my-eye-Betty-Martin sob-stuff! Damn it all, if a fellow’s got nothing but disabilities to recommend him.⁠ ⁠…”

He turned aside, working his hands furiously in his trousers pockets. That evening he said to her:

“You’re coming round to my room tonight, aren’t you? I don’t darned know where your room is.”

“All right!” she said.