Wood, the carpenter, who formerly resided here, is still living?" "If you feel any anxiety on his account, Sir, I'm happy to be able to relieve it," answered Kneebone, readily. Why in heaven’s name didn’t I think of that before?’ ‘What are you talking of?’ ‘Never mind that now. His eyes looked a little bloodshot to her; his face had lost something of its ruddy freshness. His attitude toward her was purely intellectual, free of any sentimentality, utterly selfish. The world, she discovered, with these matters barred had no particular place for her at all, nothing for her to do, except a functionless existence varied by calls, tennis, selected novels, walks, and dusting in her father’s house. She went to the basement and shed her sodden coat and scarf, tossing them into her favorite modern appliance, the electric dryer. ‘I thought it must be you,’ cried the woman. Your life is like a funeral March.
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