“Hola Marteen!” She exclaimed cheerfully. He turned his back on that temptation. He would get her to come to tea with him, usually in a pleasant tea-room over a fruit-shop in Tottenham Court Road, and he would discuss his own point of view and hint at a thousand devotions were she but to command him. Not like my father. . The house will be well rid of him, for a more idle, good-for-nothing reprobate never crossed its threshold. His breath grew shallower as he approached the room, conscious of the loudness of his hallway-reverberated footfalls. But, as soon as he perceived who it was, he roused himself, and glared fiercely at the intruder from under his bent brows. He could not pull her soul apart now to satisfy that queer absorbing, delving thing which was his literary curiosity; he had put her outside that circle.
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