207 She romanced a dark-haired farmer a few times, having long since forgotten his name. Indeed I must. Spurling and Marvel rose too. The intoxicating sense of novelty had given place to a more business-like mood. He was a civil servant of some standing, and after a previous conversation upon aesthetics of a sententious, nebulous, and sympathetic character, he had sent her a small volume, which he described as the fruits of his leisure and which was as a matter of fact rather carefully finished verse. ‘If he had, he’d have found the sword, see. ‘Could she have been a spy, after all?’ ‘Oh, she’s not a spy,’ Gerald answered, almost absently. Either you have had to love people or hate them—which is a sort of love, too, in its way—to get anything out of them.
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