She had thought—What had she thought? That this dependence of women was but an illusion which needed only to be denied to vanish. Unlocking a cupboard, he then took out some cold meat and other viands, with a flask of wine, and a bottle of brandy, and began to eat and drink voraciously. He was Julian five years younger, the spitting image. But she no longer felt Jacomo’s age, even if she looked it. She paced restlessly to the door and back again, biting her tongue on the hot words begging to be uttered. She distinctly shivered as he forced her to look at him. She turned her head to each side. There was no reason why she shouldn’t be his restrained and dignified friend. It now came to him with an added thrill how well she had told her story; simply and directly, no skipping, no wandering hither and yon: from the first hour she could remember, to the night she had fled in the proa, a clear sustained narrative. The jolly part of it was that for the first time in her life so far as London was concerned, she was not going anywhere in particular; for the first time in her life it seemed to her she was taking London in. It stunned her. The panel in the bookcase. And yet he knew that his skill was equal to that of any fashionable practitioner in Hong-Kong.
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