She had made a bed for herself out of wood and furs. “I cannot reason with you,” he said at last wearily. “You’ll get me to allude to it, but you’d have to torture me to admit it. He had plugged along, if not happy, at least with sound philosophy. ‘You would know more of me?’ ‘I would know everything about you,’ Gerald told her, his tone at once provocative and inviting. Or I should have made love to you long ago. And besides—We’re going to live, Ann Veronica! Oh, the things we’ll do, the life we’ll lead! There’ll be trouble in it at times—you and I aren’t going to run without friction. I had a hunch. “Where would you like to go? Are you hungry?” “No. ” He laughed.
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