A spasm of joy flashed through her at the
possibility of her story being in some slight degree true.
"I see," said Rossiter, satisfied, and feeling now that the
interview had lasted long enough and that there would be just time
to glance at his assistant's afternoon work before he dressed for
dinner....
"Well, old chap. Good-bye for the present. Come often and see us and
look upon me--I must be fifteen years older than you are--What,
_twenty-four_? Impossible! You don't look a day older than
twenty--in fact, if you hadn't told me you'd been in South
Africa--However as I was saying, look on me as _in loco parentis_
while you _are_ in London. I'll show you the way out into the hall.
Shall they call you a cab? No? You're quite right. It's a splendid
night for January. Where do you live? Here, write it down in my
address book.... '7 Fig Tree Court, Temple'--What a jolly address!
Are there fig trees in the Temple ... still? P'raps descended from
cuttings or layers the poor Templars brought from the Holy Land."
David returned to Fig Tree Court and his studies of criminology. But
his body and mind thrilled with the experiences of the afternoon;
and the musty records in works of repellent binding and close,
unsympathetic print of nineteenth century forgery, poisoning,
assaults-on-the-person, and cruelty-to-children cases for once
failed to hold his close attention.
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