‘How so?’ he asked, and she noted that he allowed his pistol to dangle a little from his fingers. ‘This is not love, Marthe. And Ritter’s, too, was very amusing and foreign and discreet; a little rambling room with a number of small tables, with red electric light shades and flowers. She remained for some seconds crouching at the fender, poker in hand. The mere fact that he was there in the train alongside her, helping her, sitting opposite to her in the dining-car, presently sleeping on a seat within a yard of her, made her heart sing until she was afraid their fellow passengers would hear it. I want you. To the poor carpenter it seemed an endless distance.
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