” Hill looked up at him, an unkempt, rough-looking object, with broken collar, tumbled hair, and the blood slowly dripping from his face. 47 was no more than a sort of railway compartment on the way to that. A few yards further off something grey, inert, was lying, a huddled-up heap of humanity twisted into a strange unnatural shape. You need fear no interruption from him, or any of his myrmidons. Drummond,” he continued, looking across at his vis-à-vis, “we look to you to give expression to our sentiments. He will have it that I’ve taken leave of my senses. Aunt and niece regarded each other silently. That world of fine printed cambrics and escorted maidens, of delicate secondary meanings and refined allusiveness, presented itself to her imagination with the brightness of a lost paradise, as indeed for many women it is a lost paradise.
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