Part 4 But presently, as she sat on the one antimacassared red silk chair and surveyed her hold-all and bag in that tidy, rather vacant, and dehumanized apartment, with its empty wardrobe and desert toilet-table and pictureless walls and stereotyped furnishings, a sudden blankness came upon her as though she didn’t matter, and had been thrust away into this impersonal corner, she and her gear. The thought allured him, and therein lay the danger. You did not say a word about it last week, nor have you written. There was a discreet knocking at the door, and Ramage’s face changed. . .
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