g, he says, if hes in.
tures beo t, about to slip; a girl falling, falling from tree ... I close my eyes. o one of to buy t book, sir—?
Presently, steps, and the door is opened again.
It is Mr rey.
er, and slig
and trousers are creased. ands in tation, does not come into ts my gaze, but does not smile— looks about me, as if to be sure I am alone; to eps back to let me pass. Mr rey— I say. s until t is almost a hiss—is:
Good God! Is it you? o me?
I say notand s raction, to akes my arm. to a set of stairs. teps top: In here.
t up for ting and binding of books. In one, type; anotreys orongly of glue. Its in t ables are piled ty. One o typesetters room—ed glass panels in it. t visible, bending over their work.
t ask me to sit. ands before it. akes out a e.
Good God, s only thing.
, more kindly; and I urn away.
Im sorry, I say. My voice is not steady. Im afraid I o you to weep.
You may ed glass.
But I my tears for a moment, then shakes his head.
My dear, ly at last. have you done?
Dont ask me.
You have run away.
From my uncle, yes.
From your hink.
My ?
he shrugs, colours, looks away.
I say, You t kno t you like of me, I dont care. But you must help me.
ill you?
My dear—
You . I o stay in. You used to like to say you would make me welcome—
Despite myself, my voice is rising.
Be calmer, ing o soot not moving from t are my staff to tly, sending up a riddling name . . . ers say, my wife?
I am sorry.
Again s out ell me, o me. You mustnt take your part against your uncle. I never liked to see nt kno you off, you kno, ?
I so me, now.
But o me, you understand. If he should hear of your coming—
.
ell. roubled again. But to come to me! to come akes in my gaudy dress and gloves—y, lustreless, we. I sill frowning, you seem so c, and your ?