“How could it not have hurt?” His analytical side started putting in overtime. "I'm a detective; my ears and eyes have been trained to absorb all I see and all I hear. THIS, this glissade, would be damned scoundrelism. "I feel like work," he lied. Not that it would make any difference if he was alive still. After fifteen years, to find that peculiarly Occidental attribute—college loyalty—still alive in his heart! A Western idea that had survived; an idea that was merely the flower of youthful enthusiasm! With his hands still in his sleeves, his chin down in speculation over this phenomenon, he continued his patrol. ‘You mean I should give myself a dressingdown? Very well. I think we rest here until to-morrow?” There was a brief silence. Sated, he rolled off her body and retired to his quarters. This was good. She never even graduated high school, and that has been a thorn in her side ever since. “I’m only arguing against your position of what a woman should be, and trying to get it clear in my own mind. All her questions would have as a background the idea of future defence.
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