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You see I am rather obstinate. Ruth loved him. Ann Veronica had had some training at the Tredgold College in disentangling threads from confused statements, and she had a curious persuasion that in all this fluent muddle there was something—something real, something that signified. ‘It is Yol—’ She broke off abruptly, her face collapsing into an expression of acute consternation. It had been brighter than the rest, for dawn light had come in through high unshuttered casements above the bookshelves. He spoke in quick nervous sentences. She forced herself not to think of John. Then, mysteriously, he no longer smelled or tasted it. Sometimes it seemed to him that he was an impostor: that Ruth believed him to be one Howard Spurlock, when he was only masquerading as Spurlock. ‘Am I a fool? Can I blow off a head with a pistol which is not loaded?’ ‘She has a point,’ conceded Alderley, relaxing a little as amusement burgeoned again ‘Ten to one she is a French spy,’ burst from Roding.
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