” They heard a man’s voice outside. Sheila plucked it out of Lucy’s hamper with some of Lucy’s panties and brassieres, figuring that she’d help out because she was doing a load of whites anyway. Here was a terrific figure gnashing his teeth, and howling like a wild beast;—there a lover, with hands clasped together and eyes turned passionately upward. The imbecile. Presently repellance grew under the frozen mask of astonishment and dissipated it. ‘Monsieur, my wife intended not to anger you,’ he said in a tone of apology. It isn’t illusions—for us.
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