“Yes, you are, you’re beginning to shiver — so am I.” He took his arm from my shoulders. “Come on, where do we find towels?” Never has such an innocent question so kicked me in the solar plexus. Towels! We have so few that on wash-days we just have to shake ourselves. “Oh, I’ll get you one,” I said airily; then picked my way across the ruins very slowly, so as to give myself time to think. I knew we had two pink guest-towels in the bathroom — that is, they were meant as guest-towels; they were really tiny afternoon-tea napkins, kindly lent by Miss Marcy. Could I offer those to a large wet man?
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