The man was mad to marry me. Like a petulant child he snapped. We have met before. “You come into these sordid surroundings—you mustn’t mind my calling them sordid—and it makes them seem as though they didn’t matter. ” “Don’t say that,” Sydney begged. She replied softly. He spent the evening telling her stories of Greece as she sat in front of a roaring fire. Almost instantly she had recognized the fallacy of such a statement. The warm September sun fell strongly on this part of the grounds, uninterrupted by trees, its light bouncing off the glass in the mansion’s walls. “And if she can’t have the right one? “We’ve developed such a quality of preference!” She rubbed her knuckles into her forehead.
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