She had traversed perhaps three bookshelves, passed across the door that must lead to the hall, turned the corner, and was just about to reach the fireplace when she abruptly became aware that something under her fingers had felt wrong. What was the old tabby at? Unaccountably embarrassed, he cleared his throat. ‘First I must see Jacques, and—’ ‘No need for that,’ intervened Roding, grasping her arm and trying to drag her to the door. “Yes?” “You remember once, how we talked—at a gate on the Downs? We talked about how a girl might get an independent living. One might suppose him turning up; he knew a lot of clever people, and some of them might belong to the class. “She has been to my flat before. All his interest in Ruth, all his care and solicitude, could now be translated into a single word—love.
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