132 “I thought you wanted me—you told me so when we kissed in the park!” He cried. Sheila pounded the kitchen table, causing the bell jar with the silk flowers to tip over and roll to the floor. It was a letter. Perhaps what urged her interest in the young man's direction was the dead whiteness of his face, the puffed eyelids and the bloodshot whites. "Poor fellow! I'm glad he has escaped. "And so you've given up all hope of escaping, eh, Jack?" remarked Hogarth. ” She gave herself permission now to look at this squarely. That boy," he added, looking at Thames, "has his eye upon us. ” He said as Cathy took his coat and alternately handed him back his bouquet of red roses. It was not an affair of the conscience; it was vaguely based upon insolence and defiance.
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