“Can I bring you anything, sir—a whisky and soda, or a liqueur? You’ll excuse me, sir, but you haven’t touched your coffee. Ruth's mind was fertile soil; for a long time to come it would be something of a hothouse: green things would spring up and blossom overnight. “That doesn’t touch the question I asked you,” she said. ‘That’s not much comfort. This is the way the old thief brings in all his heavy plunder, which he stows in out-of-the-way holes in his infernal dwelling. Her heart in her mouth, she heard his foot scrape on the floorboard and knew from his expression that Gosse had heard it too. I had gone further than I meant to—with some Englishmen. It was her distinctive test of an emotional state, its interference with a kindly normal digestion.
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