” His voice sounded muffled and heavy, as if he had gone to bed. “And you must please not look at me as though I were an executioner,” she declared lightly. ” Meddoes turned round from the table on which he was practising shots and shrugged his shoulders. “I shouldn’t have waited,” she said. . But to choose this of all moments. It’s a sort of home-leaving instinct. What hotel should she go to? If she told a cabman to drive to an hotel, any hotel, what would he do—or say? He might drive to something dreadfully expensive, and not at all the quiet sort of thing she required. I have always hated it.
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