But Kirk was deaf.
"He looks that sort of man," he said.
And, as he said it, the accumulated boredom of the past three hours
found vent in a vast yawn.
Ruth set her teeth. She felt as if she had received a blow.
When he spoke again it was on the subject of street-paving defects in
New York City.
* * * * *
It was true, as Ruth had said, that they did not dine with the Baileys
every night, but that seemed to Kirk, as the days went on, the one and
only bright spot in the new state of affairs. He could not bring
himself to treat life with a philosophical resignation. His was not
open revolt. He was outwardly docile, but inwardly he rebelled
furiously.
Perhaps the unnaturally secluded life which he had led since his
marriage had unfitted him for mixing in society even more than nature
had done. He had grown out of the habit of mixing. Crowds irritated
him. He hated doing the same thing at the same time as a hundred other
people.
Like most Bohemians, he was at his best in a small circle. He liked his
friends as single spies, not in battalions. He was a man who should
have had a few intimates and no acquaintances; and his present life was
bounded north, south, east, and west by acquaintances. Most of the men
to whom he spoke he did not even know by name.
He would seek information from Ruth as they drove home.
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