His gangling body was clothed in rusty twill trousers and a long black seersucker coat, buttoned to the throat, around which ran a collar which would have marked him the world over as a man of the Word. I said I knew he disliked and distrusted you and your work—that you shared all Russell’s opinions: he hates Russell beyond measure—and that we couldn’t possibly face a conventional marriage. She dropped on her knees by his side, and gently unbuttoned his waistcoat. She had been careless. Vexation at his folly in suffering himself to be thus entrapped kept Wood for a short time silent.
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