But for the next few days he avoided Cheveney like the plague. He wore a battered sunhelmet, a loin-cloth and a pair of dilapidated canvas shoes. No: I must face it out. “It is a night of endings,” she murmured to herself. Such an obvious ruse, but the boys and girls would defend their pride to the bitter end, the facade of study groups during rutting season. How could she tell him what indeed already began to puzzle herself, why she had borrowed that money at all? The plain fact was that she had grabbed a bait. . Even in his fevered hours, so the girl had said, his tongue had not betrayed him.
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