“You are too good for me,” she said in a low voice. She had arranged for a supper of tea, a boiled egg, and some tinned peaches. For a moment none of them stirred; then slowly Enschede turned away. It was long and narrow, a well-lit, wellventilated, quiet gallery of small tables and sinks, pervaded by a thin smell of methylated spirit and of a mitigated and sterilized organic decay. In fact he was thinking of other things. ‘You’ll make shadows. Do not waste time in vain regrets, but let us remove the body, that we may fulfil her last injunctions. And all to find that picture of Mary Remenham. Morningside Park was a suburb that had not altogether, as people say, come off.
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