He was so depressed and disheartened that he did not then believe he would ever write again. Spurling, as if struck by a sudden idea. ’ ‘Will you have done, Gerald?’ demanded Hilary, exasperated. He could not kiss Ruth because the acquired conscience—struggling on its way to limbo—made the idea repellant. “There wasn’t. "I fear we're too late," he whispered to Thames. Listening at one of the doors leading to the Master Debtors' side, he heard a loud voice chanting a Bacchanalian melody, and the boisterous laughter that accompanied the song, convinced him that no suspicion was entertained in this quarter.
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