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Updated: July 24, 2025
Getting a good grip on the rough cement with his hands, he hoisted himself up on to the sill, by the sheer force of his arms alone, sat poised there for an instant, then very lightly and without any noise, clambered through the window and into the room. Even as he did so, the girl cried out again. "I can't! I can't!" she wailed. Every nerve in Desmond's body was tingling with rage.
Somebody in the distance outside was whistling, clearly and musically, a quaint, jingling sort of jig that struck familiarly on Desmond's ear. Somehow it reminded him of the front.
Surendra Nath Chuckerbutti glanced anxiously around, as if fearful that the others might understand. But they lay listless on their charpoys; they knew no English, and there was nothing in Desmond's tone to quicken their hopelessness. "No, sahib," said the Bengali; "such escapade, if successful, is beyond my ken. There have been attempts; cui bono? Nobody is an anna the better.
"The lady has disappeared from London under rather suspicious circumstances;" Mortimer said, letting his grotesque eyes rest for a moment on Desmond's face, "to be quite frank with you, my dear fellow, she has been indiscreet, and the police are after her." "You don't say!" cried Desmond. "Indeed, it is a fact," replied the other, "I wish she would take you as her model, my dear Bellward.
Vera suspected that, from the first moment when she had seen him there by pure accident she had marked him down. Very likely she had wriggled into Dorothy's Suffrage meeting on purpose. She was capable of anything. Not that Vera thought there was any need for Frances to worry. It was most unlikely that Desmond's business with Nicky could be serious.
He rushed here and there with so little judgment that the odds amongst the sporting fellows went to six to four against the Manor. At the beginning of the game they were six to four the other way. And, inevitably, Scaife's wild and furious efforts unbalanced Desmond's play. Both boys were out of their proper places to the confusion of the rest of the team.
These were the passions and the thoughts of Lawrence Stephen's and of Desmond's world; these were the things it took for granted. These people lived in a moral vortex; they whirled round and round with each other; they were powerless to resist the swirl. Not one of them had any other care than to love and to make love after the manner of the Vortex.
Ben, turning his head in my direction, sprang up so suddenly that I started; but Desmond's eyes did not move till Ben confronted him; then he gave him a haughty smile, and begged him to take his repose again. I went to the piano and ran my fingers over the keys. "Do you play? Can you sing?" asked Adelaide, rousing herself. "Yes." "Do sing. I never talk music; but I like it."
So Crook, after changing Desmond's make-up and giving him a further rehearsal of his role, packed up his pots and paints and brushes in his black bag and returned to London with "nothing to report" as the communiques say. He repeated his visit every day for the next four days.
"Good morning," he said quietly. "Made a night of it, as you see; and overslept myself." But beneath his quiet he was acutely aware of the contrast between his own dishevelled aspect, and Desmond's unobtrusive neatness and freshness. "Hope I don't intrude," the latter apologised, smiling: but his keen eyes searched the other's face, and read tragedy there.
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