Did Bob Weevil pull up her clothes? They like to have ’em unhooked better than that⁠ ⁠… untied⁠ ⁠… slipping down.⁠ ⁠… They never lose that sense⁠ ⁠… They belie ’em when they say they lose that sense. What sense? The beauty of their beauty⁠ ⁠… the sense of being beautifully loved⁠ ⁠… “This is reality,” he thought. “They belie ’em when they say⁠ ⁠… Up or down, Bob Weevil? That’s the question. Up is infinite. Down is infinite. Pantheism, dualism, pluralism! An ounce of civet, good Master Jason!”

He moved on and stood by the little iron gate of his own house. He did not look up, because there suddenly came to him the nervous idea that she was kneeling on the floor in her short “slip,” peeping out at him; and he didn’t feel in a mood to be peeped at!

What he did was to stare at the latch of the gate, wondering if he could lift it without making any sound. She had so often heard that “click” and come running to welcome him. He felt that to make that particular noise now would be as if he entered her presence with his face blackened all over like a clown.⁠ ⁠…