‘What did you do with the portrait then? Not that I suppose it is much use any longer. ’ Too late he saw his error. "He was thrown overboard, and perished at sea. The Widgett mental furniture was perhaps worn and shabby, but there it was before you, undisguised, fading visibly in an almost pitiless sunlight. That's the job. He must fight the thought continually, day in and day out. Oh dear!—how sorry I am I ever left Wych Street. Ruth did not resent the use of her mind and body in this tale of adventure. He sent me flowers.
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