Oh, you must believe me. We men are like children. I am up to the ears in it all— every moment I can spare. She snatched about in her mind. Charcoal. She looked at him confusedly, his black hair glinting under the dim lights. She sat very still, and his eyes rested on that ornament for a moment, and then travelled slowly to her wrist and the soft lines of her forearm. There are so many things I want to tell you, and they stand on such different levels, that the effect is necessarily confusing and discordant, and I find myself doubting if I am really giving you the thread of emotion that should run through all this letter. Around him were all the evidences of plenty.
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