Or was that perhaps because his business in Piccadilly the other day had gone awry? Perhaps Brewis Charvill had not welcomed him with open arms. The air was sweet with the perfume of flowers, and the melody of murmuring insects, the blue sky was cloudless, the heat of the sun was tempered by the heather-scented west wind. Into this new world, vivid with colour, came Spurlock, receptively. It was filled with sopping lichens and green benches too slimy to sit upon. After he was gone in the morning, Ruth would steal into the study and hurriedly read what he had written the previous night. Jonathan, however, still lingered.
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