. . She hung about his chair, followed him to the door, touched his sleeve timidly, all the while striving to pronounce the words which refused to rise to her tongue. The Widgett mental furniture was perhaps worn and shabby, but there it was before you, undisguised, fading visibly in an almost pitiless sunlight. Ruth returned to the table. She was radiant. ‘So Leonardo has taught me. ’ ‘Oh, have you?’ grunted Gerald, surprising in himself a surge of some odd emotion at these words. And his scarlet coat had nothing to do with it, as Hilary was fond of recounting, for he had been in civilian clothes when they met, as he was tonight. ‘What are you going to do now, Gerald?’ He sipped his wine and shrugged. On this side was a razor with which a son had murdered his father; the blade notched, the haft crusted with blood: on that, a bar of iron, bent, and partly broken, with which a husband had beaten out his wife's brains.
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