There were always girls there, and now and then a few men, who always
explained immediately that they had been turned down for the service,
or were going in the fall.
"I'm sure somebody has to stay home and attend to things here," she
said to him one August night. "But even when they are in America,
they are rushing about, pretending to do things. One would think
to see Clayton that he is the entire government. It's absurd."
"I wish I could go," he said unexpectedly.
"Don't be idiotic. You're much too old."
"Not as old as Clay."
"Oh, Clay! He's in a class by himself." She laughed lightly.
"Where is he now?"
"In France, I think. Probably telling them how to run the war."
"When is he coming back?"
"I don't know. What do you mean by wishing you could go?"
"Do you want me to tell you the truth?"
"Not if it's disagreeable."
"Well, I will, and it's not very agreeable. I can't keep this up,
Natalie. I can't keep on coming here, being in Clayton's house,
and eating his bread, while I'm in love with his wife.
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