And from that moment Bill was
never himself again.
The Good Sport was, so to speak, an outsize in Good Sports. She
loomed up behind the small and demure Miss Leonard like a liner
towed by a tug. She was big, blonde, skittish, and exuberant; she
wore a dress like the sunset of a fine summer evening, and she
effervesced with spacious good will to all men. She was one of
those girls who splash into public places like stones into quiet
pools. Her form was large, her eyes were large, her teeth were
large, and her voice was large. She overwhelmed Bill. She hit his
astounded consciousness like a shell. She gave him a buzzing in
the ears. She was not so much a Good Sport as some kind of an
explosion.
He was still reeling from the spiritual impact with this female
tidal wave when he became aware, as one who, coming out of a
swoon, hears voices faintly, that he was being addressed by Miss
Leonard. To turn from Miss Leonard's friend to Miss Leonard
herself was like hearing the falling of gentle rain after a
thunderstorm. For a moment he revelled in the sense of being
soothed; then, as he realized what she was saying, he started
violently. Miss Leonard was looking at him curiously.
'I beg your pardon?' said Bill.
'I'm sure I've met you before, Mr Chalmers.'
'Er--really?'
'But I can't think where.
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