I knew what a hopeless question that is to answer about almost any two persons!
He said rather helplessly, “Well, but hang it all! What have you in common with——”
Here I felt, suspended between us in the dusk like a Mahomet’s coffin, the name of Sydney Vandeleur!
But the Governor changed his mind about uttering it.
He said:
“For instance, what can you have in common with a man like Montresor? You’re twenty-one. He’s what?—Fifty? Sixty? Yet you can talk—you can——You seem to get on all right with him.”
“Naturally!” I said.
The Governor said nothing.
He put up a hand and leaned against a bough of the copper-beech under which we were standing.