The others hurried to the window. I was the black sheep, I was hurried out of the way. Shocked, Melusine shot out of that blanketing warmth of sensation. . I do not blame you for the act. What gave the puzzling twist to an ordinary situation was her manner: she was guileless. A boy like John’s dashing friend David Mitchell, someone who shares your love of academics. Accidentally raising his eyes, he saw that he was perceived by the family from Dollis Hill, and that he was an object of the deepest interest to them. He was yellow and coarse of hair; flea-bitten, too; and even as he smiled at Ruth and wagged his stumpy tail, he was forced to turn savagely upon one of these disturbers who had no sense of the fitness of things. I was just like a sort of dummy that does things as it is told—that is to say, as the strings are pulled.
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