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In the recess beside the fireplace were some open bookshelves. Sydney was strumming over a new song which stood upon the piano. McClintock, striking a match to relight his cigar, broke the spell. . ’ ‘How dare you?’ roared the general. She surveyed accommodation that seemed at first merely austere, and became more and more manifestly inadequate as the moments fled by. She tightened her bandage and sat back, biting her lip. She should have slapped him but she was in shock at her own thoughts of lust that arose. The effort of self-repression cost him a sob. She sat, crouched together, by the corner of the hearthrug under the bookcase that supported the pig’s skull, and looked into the fire and up at Ann Veronica’s face, and let herself go. The first was to break a dinner engagement. Having ascertained that Thames was at his heels, he hurried with his ghastly burthen down Seacoal Lane. “Allow me. Now I am sorry to cross you in anything you have set your heart upon, but I regret to say—” “H’m,” he reflected, and crossed out the last four words. “You silly fool,” he said.
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