“But I’m afraid you are going to be in a hopeless minority here as regards me. For a while they stood there, silent, motionless, staring at the doorway where still a few strings of the bamboo curtain swayed and twisted, agitated by the Wastrel's passage. The road from Surbiton and Epsom ran under the arch, and, like a bright fungoid growth in the ditch, there was now appearing a sort of fourth estate of little redand-white rough-cast villas, with meretricious gables and very brassy windowblinds. The farmer was a widow who was slightly famous around town for his prize cows and slightly more famous for his good looks. Something with iron resolve the father had kept hidden all these years in the lonely citadel of his heart. ” She stopped with an air of interrogation. Stanley lost patience. She could hear their footsteps upon the pavement.
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