But in its stead—toward morning—there appeared another idea which appealed to him as sublime, appealed to the primitive conscience, to his artistic sense of the drama, to the poet and the novelist in him. “It means that I have had enough of this slavery,” she declared. The one problem was that it didn’t fly. 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. And so I'll tell you what I did —" And she burst into a laugh that froze Jack's blood in his veins.
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