"Arundel Stairs," replied Wood, "the nearest point to Wych Street. A certain irritation crept into his manner as he did so. Her English was halting. Superstition—you knock into it whichever way you turn. "Red apples and snow!" he repeated. She dived at once behind the cover of the lamproom and affected serious trouble with her shoe-lace until he was out of the station, and then she followed slowly and with extreme discretion until the bifurcation of the Avenue from the field way insured her escape. I think I asked if I could eat lunch with her and Trisha Deere one day and she said there was no room at the table. There was a strained, eager expression on his face. It was clear that he meant to kiss her before she exited the car.
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