Activity

she had thought of the indelible year of her birth

his hands composed a shivering binnacle for what served, on this voyage, as a compass, a glass of whisky, perilously plumb between the gimbals of his fingers.

It cheapens the whole . . . it’s a calumny, that’s what it is, on my work

They talked now in tones which recognized those of the other, and treated with accordingly, desultory tones and cursory remarks which might come close upon but never touch the eventuality which both appeared to await.

The city throbbed in gray effulgence, radiating motion