Her laughter grated on René. He had a revulsion of feeling against
her. She was, he realized, and always had been, cynical.
At her gate she held his hand for a long time, and asked him if he
would not come and see her again.
"I think not," he said.
"I wish you would. We might be such friends. And you have become so
interesting."
"I think not," he repeated. "Any friendship we might have would only
be an----" He could not find the word and stopped rather foolishly. He
could not move until he had found it. So they stood there hand in hand
waiting in a ridiculous and empty silence.
"Would be what?" she asked in irritation.
He found the word.
"An impertinence."
She shook his hand from hers almost angrily and walked away.
He knew then why he had come to Thrigsby. It was to make a clean cut
with her. That achieved, there was nothing more in the grim city of
his youth to keep him.