“I am the most foolish of men. They were bickering, she could tell by the way the mother threw her fat arms into the air and paced restlessly about the tiny clapboard house. 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. ‘Dreadfully untidy, is it not? Can’t abide bare rooms. Back, that you may be close together. Only a few, but enough for me to understand that some act had driven you to this part of the world, where the hunted hide. Then she realized that it was her business to let Manning talk and impose his own interpretations upon the situation so far as he was concerned. But I'll tell you about him some other time.
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