So the talk went on, and presently they were criticising novelists, and certain daring essays of Wilkins got their due share of attention, and then they were discussing the future of the theatre. He kissed her deeply and hungrily. “I’m sorry Mister McCloskey! I was out seeing my boyfriend!” He stared at her concernedly. They don’t count, and I don’t care. “Always planning for death. ” He was silent for a moment or two. " "What did I say?" "Only one word," she said, offering her first white lie. “Is that not rather a profitless speculation, my friend?” He seemed deaf to her interruption.
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