At last—I told a story. Miss Ellicot pursed her lips and sat a little more upright. I’m sick of this town and I can’t wait to get out. She longed to allow him to kiss her again, to touch her again. He disappeared into its thick doors like a magician’s rabbit. The real tragedy—which he sensed and toward which he was always reaching—eluded all his verbal skill. He would raise her up once again, ply her with silks and jewels again, all of the accoutrements of the new generation: the cars, the toys, the restaurants, and the prestige. But did Gerald trouble himself about her? No. Wild had escaped. “I had a faint idea once that things were as you say they are, but the affair of the ring—of the unexpected ring—puzzled me. Yet, stay! There is one thing I wish you to do.
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