‘The fact of it is,’ I said, ‘I’m the new playwright, Thomas More. Moving swiftly to the end of the corridor, he pushed open a door at random and entered a large room, which looked to have been a saloon, judging from the faded gilt and crimson wall-paper, a mirror above the fireplace which was surrounded by an ornate gilded frame, now sadly tarnished, and a worn Chippendale sofa with striped upholstery and tasselled cushions. ” He plunged into one of his drawers, and brought up a small gold-foiled bottle. It gave her joy to see them laughing, even though she was unsure of what she had done wrong.
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