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What sort of a standard of life yours may be I do not know, yet in your heart you know very well that every word you have spoken to me has been a veiled insult, every time you have come into my presence has been an outrage. Another picture slid across her vision. "The worst house in the neighbourhood—the constant haunt of reprobates and thieves," groaned Wood. It is very sweet of you to have waited for me. And don’t tell me what you’ve been up to, dashing off to Remenham House with that Kimble lad, and Lord knows what besides, because I don’t want to know.
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