He had not addressed to her even the most ordinary courtesy of fellow travellers; she doubted that he was even aware of her existence. She waited a few minutes, then greeted the burly doorman who stood as the building’s lone sentry. ‘Jacques?’ she called out, forgetting the need for silence. “There is no—Good God!” he exclaimed. Stanley, “just a moment. It slipped out—as did that “she”. A traffic of copious barges slumbered over the face of the river-barges either altogether stagnant or dreaming along in the wake of fussy tugs; and above circled, urbanely voracious, the London seagulls. For awhile he watched the revolving light on Copeley's.
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