It was a haunted place. Ruth, without suspecting it, had fallen upon a fundamental truth: that each and every book fitted into the scheme of human moods and intelligence. Spurling was no longer allowed to visit him; he was again loaded with irons; fastened by an enormous horse-padlock to a staple in the floor; and only allowed to take repose in a chair. She looked about, watching a massive green storm cloud building in the west. Captain Roding either did not know, or did not remember that she had it. She felt that Ann Veronica had duped her in that dream, and now that she had come up to London she might as well speak her mind. He would know her address to-morrow. ‘They’ve gone, miss,’ came the answer, muffled through the panel door.
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