He sat up in his chair as though the question had stung him. “Turned out to be an impostor, too. ’ ‘What?’ Roding’s glare tried Gerald’s control severely, but he pursued his theme unheeding. "Not as I loved mine. When I think of those ateliers of ours, the art jargon, the decadents with their flamboyant talk I long for a twoedged sword and a minute of Divinity. I too can see it. And yet—such is the buoyancy of youth—within a fortnight he began his first novel, pretending to himself that it was on Ruth's account. ” “Then, whoever he may be, he is not Meysey Hill,” Courtlaw said.
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