‘How could I know that it is you?’ She peered at him in the darkness. Only I do not care to write about anything else. She looked directly at his face, his perpetually graying hair, his hawkish nose, his long cheekbones. Here we go, thought Gerald. The taste of his sweat was intoxicating, like sweet brandy, like blood. I hope you won’t mind if I say first that I think it does me an extraordinary honor that you should think of any one like myself so highly and seriously, and, secondly, that I wish it had not been written. “How I am to earn enough sous for my dinner to-morrow—or failing that, what I can sell. ’ ‘Ah, that explains your surprise.
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