He stood back, smiling with an air of proprietorship, and looking about him at the business-like equipment of the room. That person advanced towards him. She enjoyed preparing the evening meals, the smells of potatoes roasting in the oven, the stink of onions in the pan, the crackle of chicken frying. While the cloth was laid, the host and Thames descended to the cellar, whence they returned, laden with a number of flasks of the same form, and apparently destined to the same use as those depicted in Hogarth's delectable print—the Modern Midnight Conversation. I have never seen a lagoon. After he was gone in the morning, Ruth would steal into the study and hurriedly read what he had written the previous night. Wood fancied he recognised.
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