The passion of pent-up speech compelled action of some sort. The air was sweet with the smoky perfume of myrrh, hazy and dense with incense. Lucy grabbed his shirtsleeve, whispering on tiptoe. "I thought you'd have got rid of your ill-humour by this time. " He offered cigars, and Ruth got up. She was feeling extraordinarily well that night, so that the sense of her body was a deep delight, a realization of a gentle warmth and strength and elastic firmness. "How long will he be laid up?" "Three or four weeks, if he doesn't peg out during the night. But d—n him! let's talk o' something more agreeable.
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