He waited. The girl’s gaze met his in interested inquiry. But the Ramage affair needed clearing up, of course; it was a flaw upon that project. If only to say goodbye. Art was everywhere, underfoot in the form of mosaics, overhead in the form of architecture. “Dare!” she said. ‘By traitors I am surrounded!’ ‘Stop talking utter twaddle,’ ordered Roding, marching up to the desk. I do not say guest because that suggests friendship; and I am no friend of this Wastrel. “Thank you—for coming,” he said. “Well?” “You and all the rest of them are always lamenting that I do not marry.
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