” He threw open the door of the sitting-room and switched on the electric light. He whispered in her ear. Brown. In one angle of the room stood a disused fire-place, with a rusty grate and broken chimney-piece; in the other there was a sort of box, contrived between the wall and the boards, that looked like an apology for a cupboard. The queer phase of the dream was this, she was at no time a woman; she was symbolical of something, and he followed to learn what this something was. She was clad in fresh linen, but still wore the riding-habit she had appropriated, having sponged out the spots of blood late last night and left it to dry in the kitchens. ‘Where was I? Oh yes.
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