"
"Oh, Mr. Wrenn--"
"He didn't mean--"
"I didn't mean--"
"He was just spoofing--"
"I was just spoofing--"
Bill Wrenn, watching the dramatization of himself as hero, was
enjoying the drama. "You apologize, then?"
"Why certainly, Mr. Wrenn. Let me explain--"
"Oh, don't explain," snortled Miss Saxonby.
"Yes!" from Mr. Bancock Binch, "explanations are _so_
conventional, old chap."
Do you see them?--Mr. Wrenn, self-conscious and ready to turn
into a blind belligerent Bill Wrenn at the first disrespect; the
talkers sitting about and assassinating all the princes and
proprieties and, poor things, taking Mr. Wrenn quite seriously
because he had uncovered the great truth that the important
thing in sight-seeing is not to see sights. He was most
unhappy, Mr. Wrenn was, and wanted to be away from there.
He darted as from a spring when he heard Istra's voice, from
the edge of the group, calling, "Come here a sec', Billy."
She was standing with a chair-back for support, tired but smiling.
"I can't get to sleep yet.
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