“I have a letter for you, and no end of messages. She approached this field with her usual liveliness of apprehension. He had meant to be master of his fate that evening and it had escaped him altogether. For a few minutes all was silent. She sensed he might try and wane on her doorstep. Even in this dread moment Ruth was conscious of a pathetic interest in the scattering pencils. On the mantelpiece in front of her was a note addressed to her in Annabel’s handwriting. 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.
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