Wood. She was chic, distinguished, unusual. “There,” he said, “you don’t treat me fairly, Miss Stanley. “But why,” he said in the gasping voice of one subduing an agony, and looked at her from under a pain-wrinkled brow, “why did you not tell me this before?” “I didn’t know—I thought I might be able to control myself. 13 with a latchkey went humming lightly up to her room. Listening on the dimlit landing, he saw Roding’s face muscles tighten. What was to happen now? She turned to Roding quickly. Not a moment is to be lost. But this is like—like walking round a house that looks square and complete and finding an unexpected long wing running out behind. She lifted the sheet and gestured for him to join her.
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