Suddenly she sees him standing in the doorway, looking at her.
She knows, now. She feels the blood rushing in her brain, while the stabbing click of the typewriter sets up little whirling currents that swamp her thoughts. Her wet fingers keep slipping. Then he moves over to take her in his arms -- and she finds herself crying . . . crying because she is happy -- because she knows.
"You must have known," he says. "You must have wanted me to take you in my arms!"
"No. I didn't think of it."
And his smile. His unbelieving smile. He thought she was lying. He always thought people were lying. Women. He thought women always lied about what they wanted.
May Sinclair (1870-1947), author of The Divine Fire, demonstrates in The Romantic the sharp wit and clear, incisive style that made her one of the most respected novelists of her time.
