Spurlock bent his head to the rail. ‘I thought—I thought I saw my—my husband. He then unfolded his choice and held it before her face. His shirt was unfastened, his vest unbuttoned, his hose ungartered; his feet were stuck into a pair of pantoufles, his arms into a greasy flannel dressing-gown, his head into a thrum-cap, the cap into a tie-periwig, and the wig into a gold-edged hat. Miss Miniver looked over her glasses at her friend almost balefully. Was there anything at all in those locked rooms of her aunt’s mind? Were they fully furnished and only a little dusty and cobwebby and in need of an airing, or were they stark vacancy except, perhaps, for a cockroach or so or the gnawing of a rat? What was the mental equivalent of a rat’s gnawing? The image was going astray. "I must see him to-night. Let me keep him. “Your success here is absolutely meteoric. He filled her glass with champagne.
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