“Vee!” said Miss Stanley, “you hear what your father says!” Miss Stanley struggled with emotion. Ray Plote was most certainly feeling restless, what if he had left the house for the evening? She needed to eat. The latch came with a weak click. But, rather than be the cause of any further misunderstanding between you and my benefactor, I will leave London and its neighbourhood for ever. Was this the result of some strange experiment? It was the person of Annabel Pellissier—the soul of a very different order of being. In a sense I don’t care. He could not understand how men could live ignoring this one predominant interest, this wonderful research into personality and the possibilities of pleasing, these complex, fascinating expeditions that began in interest and mounted to the supremest, most passionate intimacy. .
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