“What a fool I am!” he muttered, standing up on the hearthrug, and leaning his elbows upon the broad mantelpiece. ‘But then again, possibly not. She was sick of herself, of her life, of everything but him; and for him all her masked and hidden being was crying out. It might be supposed that these articles, when thrust together into the bag, would have jingled; but these skilful practitioners managed matters so well that no noise was made. His gangling body was clothed in rusty twill trousers and a long black seersucker coat, buttoned to the throat, around which ran a collar which would have marked him the world over as a man of the Word. He was reaching wearily for some kind of buffer to his harrying conscience. Who were you looking for tonight? One of the émigrés? There were several in there.
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