The spy—if there was one hiding out in the late Jarvis Remenham’s empty house—would be taken unawares. “What are you doing?” He cried. She lunged without warning again, and Gosse, just catching her blade on his own, was obliged to retreat backwards up the little stair. So she went to Ramage and came to the point almost at once. He had finally put aside The Lilac Sunbonnet, gone into his study, lit the gas fire, and written the letter that had brought these unsatisfactory relations to a head. "I give you all of my genius, and you say—'Get out!' I am some kind of a dog. I want to know what you are doing; how you think this work of yours really does serve women.
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