It was always jabbing him with white-hot barbs, waking or sleeping. She lunged without warning again, and Gosse, just catching her blade on his own, was obliged to retreat backwards up the little stair. ‘Long enough for you to see Frith for me. (“No, no. Tum, tum, tirray, tum, tum, tum, te-tum—that thing of Mendelssohn’s! If making one human being absolutely happy is any satisfaction to you—” He held out his hands, and she also stood up. Kneebone, on his return from Manchester.
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