She receded into the entryway, opening her palm and gesturing as if there were an imaginary red carpet rolled out for visitors. He, for his part, was trying to grasp the series of unexpected reactions that had so wrecked their tete-a-tete. The tree-lined streets were silent except for the sporadic revving of glass packs down Church Avenue. The other was helping Trodger with his operation upstairs. He could not pull her soul apart now to satisfy that queer absorbing, delving thing which was his literary curiosity; he had put her outside that circle. Gosse had to release his clamp on her mouth, for the awkwardness of the position made it impossible to negotiate the little stair.
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