You don't realize what you have done. She turned the television off. Ann Veronica sat firelit by her tea-tray with, quite unconsciously, the air of an expert hostess. Of what use was the temporary set-back to memory, when it always returned with redoubled poignancy? Then came another thought, astonishing. White——” “No more,” Sydney Courtlaw begged, laughingly. Ruth was something to study for future copy; she was almost unbelievable. She had no place she loved. As soon as he finished a sheet, he tossed it aside and began another. Oh dear!—how sorry I am I ever left Wych Street. I do not say guest because that suggests friendship; and I am no friend of this Wastrel. She is a stranger to you. We have only those phantoms called memories, which are the husks of dreams.
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