” “I don’t know who you are,” Ennison said quietly, “but you are a thundering liar. A millionaire and a knight, even though his money has been made in carpets, is used to being a person of interest. He forgot for the moment his own self-pity, the egotism of his own passionate love. It was surely odd that her thought should pick up that picture and recast it so vividly. And in reality even that magic garden-close resolves itself into a villa at Morningside Park and my father being more and more cross and overbearing at meals—and a general feeling of insecurity and futility. Below was an uninspiring street, a thoroughfare of boarding-houses and apartments. Spurling. I fight.
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