Satisfied with his scrutiny, he produced a pocket-flask, and taking off the silver cup with which it was mounted, filled it with the contents of the flask, and then seizing the thin arm of the sleeper, rudely shook it. ‘What Gerald wants with you has me beat. ‘Think I’m fool enough to do my business in a convent?’ he said scornfully. She was making it up. Yet he’s been here for six years, and he’s as much a fixture as that sham mahogany sideboard. You and I. He was human. There were doorways to peer into, dim cluttered holes with shadowy forms moving about, potters and rug-weavers.
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