I hope you won’t mind if I say first that I think it does me an extraordinary honor that you should think of any one like myself so highly and seriously, and, secondly, that I wish it had not been written. It dropped sideways and fell with a bang to the table. She was in a very uncritical state that afternoon. Moving back to the corner again, she ran a hand back over the leather-bound books—which, she realised, were not books at all. I don’t want you to talk to me now. In the sixth center row sat an unexpected guest, his Classical Greek features stark in the yellow half light. All this Woman-who-Diddery —no damn good. “I wonder,” she murmured to herself, “if this is the beginning. He found a coach at the door, with the blinds carefully drawn up, and ascertained from a tall, ill-looking, though tawdrily-dressed fellow, who held his horse by the bridle, and whom he addressed as Quilt Arnold, that the two boys were safe inside, in the custody of Abraham Mendez, the dwarfish Jew.
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