‘But he must have—’ ‘Nicholas Charvill never did anything he must do,’ Mrs Sindlesham said evenly. She doesn't love you; she hasn't the least idea what it means beyond what she has read in novels. Spurlock stepped into the room. Gazing at her with eyes blinded with tears, he imprinted one brotherly kiss upon her lips. Her heart was beating with quite unaccustomed vigour, her hands were hot, she was conscious of a warmth in her blood which the summer sunshine was scarcely responsible for. He sat down on the sill of the open window, folded his arms, and stared straight before him for a long time over the wilderness of tiles and chimney-pots into a sky that was blue and empty. As she danced there was in her ears the faded echo of wooden tom-toms. Once a sick sailor drew three pictures for me and set down every stay and brace and sail—square-rigger, schooner, and sloop.
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