Shelton’s thoughts are some part with the contractor, some part with Gently, some part with Sally. The contractor, because he was uncivil: Gently, because he has overwhelmed Shelton. As for Sally, the heat in the office had caused her to take off her tunic, and so to expose, with greater definition, the generous lines of her bosom. Shelton evaluates these automatically while more consciously perusing his first and second subjects. He is also aware of the contradiction between Sally’s bosom and Sally’s face. Sally is grim to her neck. Sally is about to bite someone. Her retroussé nose is needle-sharp, she has haughty eyes and a fresh complexion. Properly, the rest of her should be niggardly, stringy, two boards clapped together: her face says so, is full of injury, has been struck, and would strike. Yet the rest of her is voluptuous, even muffled in a uniform. How did nature make the slip? Sally’s bosom aggrieves Shelton. He snaps: You’ve got that down – looking for a moment as grim as she.
