He haunted a state between hectic dreaming and mild delirium, and she found herself talking aloud to him. He sent me flowers. It is with the building raised after this direful calamity that our history has to deal. Books! She knew now what had saved her—her mother's hand, reaching down from heaven, had set the giver's flaming eyes upon the covers of these books. 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.
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