Chapter XXIII MONTAGUE HILL SEES LIGHT AT LAST At exactly ten minutes past ten Annabel rang the bell of her sister’s flat. Luckily I’m not. “Limp,” he answered. I've my own reasons for disliking this job. He would sit in his inner office and compose conversations with her, penetrating, illuminating, and nearly conclusive—conversations that never proved to be of the slightest use at all with her when he met her face to face. You won’t want to be late the first evening, and it’s ten minutes past seven now. I’ll do it. Never mind.
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