"What's that?"
Edward Caspar answered after a pause and much facial emotion.
"I'm writing a book on the Philosophy of M—Mysticism." He wound himself up and his speech flowed more freely. "It'll take me my lifetime. Professor Zweibrucker of Leipzig is helping me. That's why I've settled here. At least," he corrected, stumbling once again, "that's one reason why. To be quiet and near the Public Library."
Mr. Trupp nodded.
"It's the best in the South of England bar Brighton," he said. "And it'll beat that soon." He rose to go.
"Does that woman look after you properly?" he asked.
The young man's colour changed; and the momentary glow of enthusiasm roused in him as he touched on his work vanished. Edward Caspar was too weak or too honest to make a good conspirator.
He became self-conscious, and blinked rapidly as he stared at the fire.
"What—wow—woman's that?" he asked in a flustered way.
"Your landlady."