‘I thought, you see, that we might as well enter by the same way our intruder had done. He felt his heart beat faster and faster—his self-restraint slipping away. Spurlock: 'tis Roundhead, sure enough. When I think of those ateliers of ours, the art jargon, the decadents with their flamboyant talk I long for a twoedged sword and a minute of Divinity. "Strange!" observed the Master; "I thought he'd been at my elbow all this time. And yet—such is the buoyancy of youth—within a fortnight he began his first novel, pretending to himself that it was on Ruth's account.
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