’ ‘Gammon,’ interrupted Hilary scornfully. Mrs. It seemed as if each time her imagination reached out investingly, an invisible lash beat it back. Her fingers passed over a cunningly wrought surface of wood, with just the correct amount of protrusion, the precise colours of dyed leather, and cleverly gilded surfaces and neatly painted lettering. He would get her to come to tea with him, usually in a pleasant tea-room over a fruit-shop in Tottenham Court Road, and he would discuss his own point of view and hint at a thousand devotions were she but to command him. "Here he is, waterman," exclaimed the benevolent carpenter. What she did not know, and what she was never to know, was that the divine fire was hers.
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