“Let me introduce my friend to you,” Courtlaw said. “Who tied this scarf here?” he asked, looking up. ‘Yes, miss. She was no longer there. ‘A devil is just what you are. Many things were only words, sounds; she could not construct these words and sounds into objects; or, if she did, invariably missed the mark. In each pause she could sense his growing trepidation. "Here, wife—hostess—fetch me that bottle from the second shelf in the corner cupboard. He returned figuratively to his bed—the bed he had made for himself and in which he must for ever lie.
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