‘You are jealous!’ ‘Yes,’ he agreed simply. So while he talked to this girl of work and freedom, his slightly protuberant eyes were noting the gracious balance of her limbs and body across the gate, the fine lines of her chin and neck. His shirt was unfastened, his vest unbuttoned, his hose ungartered; his feet were stuck into a pair of pantoufles, his arms into a greasy flannel dressing-gown, his head into a thrum-cap, the cap into a tie-periwig, and the wig into a gold-edged hat. ‘She ought to be. You’ll have to find someone else. ‘Unless he is himself a man of substance. ‘There are no Remenhams left. The elusive Jane tapped her on the shoulder after class.
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