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‘The fact of it is,’ I said, ‘I’m the new playwright, Thomas More. She donned her fuzzy slippers and traipsed downstairs, the welcoming smell of coffee beckoning her, the sound of Looney Toons music barely audible from the television set. Taking his way along East Smithfield, mounting Little Tower-hill, and threading the Minories and Hounsditch, he arrived without accident or molestation, at Moorfields. We were fellow passengers from Charing Cross, and we have been fellow lodgers in the Rue d’Entrepot. The young lady with frizzled hair, whom Brendon had pointed out to her as Miss Ellicot, leaned forward from her hostess’s side. Both had very singular faces; very odd wigs, very much pulled over their brows; and very large cravats, very much raised above their chins. “The thing I feel most disposed to say, Miss Stanley,” he began at last, “is that this is very sudden. She could feel teenage girls from all corners of the room tensing, preparing to shriek. ‘You talk together of me as if I am not there. Both had dropped the rather elaborate politeness of the dining-room, and in their faces an impartial observer would have discovered little lines of obstinate wilfulness in common; a certain hardness—sharp, indeed, in the father and softly rounded in the daughter—but hardness nevertheless, that made every compromise a bargain and every charity a discount.

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