“I wish that I could forget it,” he said. "No, I don't. She made no answer, and for a time he debated some problems with himself. He had brought the shrubs down from Syria, and, strangely enough, they had prospered. What was his astonishment to recognise in the few words they uttered the voices of Kneebone and Winifred! The latter was apparently in great distress, and the former seemed to be using his best efforts to relieve her anxiety. Nuns, I mean. From beginning to end it was first-hand stuff. His gangling body was clothed in rusty twill trousers and a long black seersucker coat, buttoned to the throat, around which ran a collar which would have marked him the world over as a man of the Word. He was speechless.
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